THE  PRODIGAL 


CLUNIE   ROBERT 


BY 


MARY/HALLOCK)  FOOTE 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY  THE  AUTHOR 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 

(Cfte  ftifccrjjitJc  press,  Cambribgc 
1900 


COPYRIGHT,  IQOO,  BY  MARY  HALLOCK  FOOTE 
ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED 


H-b  i  ^7 

Bancroft  Library 


of  31Utt$tt:atfott!$ 

••*  PAGB 

.     CLUNIE  ROBERT          .        .        .       Frontispiece 

o 

^        THE  SUMBAWA  HAD  BEEN   SIGNALED  AS  OFF  THE 

<I  HEADS        .  .  .  .  .  .  38 

*          ANNIE   DUNSTAN  .  .  .  .  .  -74 

y 

Q          A  STRONG  TIDE   RUNNING   OUT  .  .  .  92 

C) 

tr. 
O 
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5 


Cfje 


"  Let  him  commute  his  eternal  fear  -with  a  temporal 
suffering,  preventing  God's  judgment  by  choosing  one 
of  his  own."  —  JEREMY  TAYLOR. 


AN  August  fog  was  drifting  inland  from 
JLJL-  the  bay.  In  thin  places  the  blue  Con- 
tra Costa  hills  showed  through,  and  the  general 
grayness  was  tinged  with  pearl.  San  Fran- 
cisco dripped  and  steamed  along  her  bristling 
water-front ;  derricks  loomed  black,  and  yards 
and  topmasts  reddened,  as  a  fringe  of  winter 
woodland  colors  up  at  the  turn  of  the  year. 

Morton  Day,  a  young  New  Englander  who 
filled  the  place  of  "  outside  man  "  for  Bradshaw 
&  Company,  was  working  over  some  cargo 
lists  in  the  general  office  on  Sansome  Street. 
The  Bradshaws  represented  one  of  the  oldest 
1 


shipping  and  commission  houses  in  the  South 
Sea  and  Oriental  trade ;  the  time  being  nearly 
twenty  years  ago,  before  the  decay  of  the  great 
clipper  lines,  and  before  the  "  moral  sense  "  of 
the  laboring  man  of  California  had  rebelled 
against  the  importation  of  coolies. 

Morton  Day  looked  up.  A  tall  figure  came 
between  him  and  the  light,  bringing  the  smell 
of  the  docks,  and  advertising  its  owner's  con- 
dition in  scareheads  of  shabbiness. 

"What  can  I  do  for  you?"  asked  Day. 
Neither  his  time  nor  sympathies  were  subject 
to  draught  that  morning.  The  answer  came 
coolly,  in  the  accent  of  an  English  gentleman. 

It  is  not  always  safe  to  place  an  American 
by  his  speech :  there  are  so  many  variations  of 
us,  geographical  and  racial,  and  we  run  so  to 
slang  and  the  dialects.  But  an  Englishman's 
class  accent  is  bred  in  the  bone.  He  cannot 
pawn  it  like  his  watch,  or  stake  and  lose  it  like 
his  money.  Such,  at  least,  had  been  Day's 
experience  on  the  water-front  of  the  City  of 
Strangers.  When  he  heard  that  rich  chest 
register,  emanating  from  the  disguise  of  a  com- 


mon  seaman  the  night  before  he  ships,  he  said 
to  himself :  "  Here  's  another  of  them ;  another 
gentleman  wool-gatherer,  come  back  shorn." 

The  stranger  had  asked  —  with  his  hands  in 
the  pockets  of  his  greasy  overalls  —  to  speak 
with  "  one  of  the  heads  of  the  firm." 

An  ironical  pause  followed.  Day  had  the 
advantage  of  his  vis-a-vis,  who  saw  in  him  but 
an  every-day  type  of  the  well-equipped  young 
business  man,  while  presenting  in  himself  the 
sort  of  quarry  a  romancer  or  a  reporter  would 
hunt  down.  White  he  appeared  to  be,  by  his 
features  and  his  bold,  blue,  roving  eye ;  Apache, 
by  his  skin,  over  which  a  recent  shave  had 
spread  a  bloom  like  a  light  hoarfrost.  His 
utter  destitution,  verging  on  nakedness,  in  a 
feebler  frame  would  have  been  pitiful,  but  in 
such  a  sturdy  young  tramp,  so  splendidly  set 
up,  it  gave  him  rather  an  outrageous  and  trucu- 
lent air. 

"  Very  sorry,"  said  the  shipping  clerk  dryly. 
"  Mr.  Bradshaw  is  not  down  yet." 

"  Mr.  Felix  Bradshaw  ?  " 

"  Neither  of  them.     Better  try  again  later." 
3 


The  other  did  not  move.  "  I  Ve  an  appetite 
for  breakfast,"  he  remarked,  "  that  is  cutting 
me  in  two.  Could  you  manage  to  push  my 
little  interview  with  your  chiefs'?  Sorry  I 
haven't  a  card  about  me."  He  laughed,  with 
a  flash  of  big  white  teeth  lighting  his  extraor- 
dinary mask  of  tan ;  and,  to  point  the  jest,  he 
stripped  open  his  one  upper  garment  and  showed 
a  forty-four-inch  chest  as  bare  as  the  breast  of 
Hermes  and  the  color  of  manzanita  wood  in 
sunshine. 

"  Jove !  what  a  swell  he  'd  be  in  an  outrig- 
ger ! "  thought  Day.  "  He  must  have  peeled  a 
dozen  times  before  he  got  that  lacquer  on  him !  " 
Aloud,  he  said :  "  Trees  were  scarce  where  you 
came  from,  I  take  it  ?  " 

The  stranger  did  not  dally  with  conversation. 
He  clapped  both  hands  upon  his  yearning  epi- 
gastrium and  doubled  himself  over  them  ex- 
pressively. "  I  shall  turn  turtle  here  in  the 
shop  unless  somebody  fills  me  up  with  some- 
thing!" 

"  We  will  see  about  that ! "  said  Day,  and 
was  wiping  his  pen  when  Mr.  Bradshaw,  senior, 
4. 


came  in.  Now,  the  firm  had  had  a  long-suffering 
acquaintance  with  interesting  dead-beats,  foreign 
and  domestic.  Fathers  of  wild  boys,  who  knew 
not  else  what  to  do  with  them,  sent  them  out 
to  their  San  Francisco  agents  with  firm  instruc- 
tions to  put  them  through  the  mill ;  and  blamed 
the  miller  when  their  rotten  grain  made  worth- 
less flour,  and  was  thrown  upon  the  heap. 
Every  young  remittance  man  who  had  over- 
drawn his  home  allowance  came  to  them  for  a 
temporary  loan,  on  the  strength  of  his  connec- 
tions, which  the  connections  seldom  made  good. 

The  chief's  welcome,  therefore,  to  this  stal- 
wart child  of  calamity  was  not  effusive. 

"That  young  man  will  attend  to  your  busi- 
ness," he  said,  indicating  Day,  and  walked  to- 
ward his  private  office. 

The  stranger  stood  in  his  path.  "  I  beg 
your  pardon,  Mr.  Bradshaw ;  my  business  is 
with  you.  I  am  starving,  —  Andrew  Robert's 
son,  here  in  your  counting-room,  where  you 
have  made  your  thousands  out  of  him ! " 

The  chief  smiled  grimly.  "  I  have  no  re- 
membrance of  making  any  thousands  out  of 
5 


'  Andrew  Robert's  son.'  Where  do  you  come 
from  ]  " 

"I  shipped  from  Sydney,  last  February,  in 
the  bark  Woolahra,  that  foundered  off  Cape  St. 
Lucas.  Don't  you  answer  letters,  up  here  1  I 
think  I  have  written  you  by  every  steamer." 

Mr.  Bradshaw  looked  the  youngster  over 
from  head  to  foot,  —  from  the  grimy  yachting 
cap  on  the  back  of  his  head  to  the  sickly  bro- 
gans  bulging  on  his  sockless  feet,  —  and  he 
spoke  slowly,  as  to  one  possibly  of  deficient  un- 
derstanding. 

"Mr.  Robert,  of  Auckland,  is  one  of  our 
oldest  correspondents,"  he  said,  giving  the  name 
of  the  New  Zealand  banker  and  capitalist  its 
fullest  value.  "  Some  months  ago  he  advised 
us  to  look  out  for  his  son,  Clunie  "  — 

"  Clunie  is  my  name,"  the  boy  broke  in. 
"  I  'm  the  only,  original "  — 

"To  look  out  for  his  son,  by  the  Woolahra, 
consigned  to  us  from  Sydney,"  Mr.  Bradshaw 
pursued.  "  There  were  some  special  instruc- 
tions which  may  or  may  not  concern  your  case. 
The  Woolahra  was  wrecked,  as  you  say,  and 
6 


the  survivors,  as  they  found  their  way  up  the 
coast,  reported  to  us.  Glume  Robert  was  not 
among  them." 

"  Naturally,  —  when  he  was  writing  you  all 
the  while  from  the  Cape  ! " 

"  One  moment,  please.  I  was  going  to  say 
that  a  person  signing  himself  Clunie  Robert 
has  been  claiming  our  assistance  from  the  Cape. 
Granting  you  may  be  that  person,  you  must  be 
aware  that  no  business  house  can  honor  an  un- 
known signature.  Mr.  Robert  has  an  account 
with  us,  but  we  cannot  permit  a  stranger,  how- 
ever unfortunate,  to  draw  on  it,  in  the  name  of 
his  son,  unless  he  were  able  to  give  us  some 
proof  of  his  identity." 

"  Great  God  above  !  Did  you  ever  try  to 
prove  your  own  identity,  stark  naked,  sir,  on  a 
strip  of  sand,  six  thousand  miles  from  home  I  I 
was  in  the  boat  that  was  smashed  on  Los  Tres 
Hermanos,  —  the  only  man  of  us  who  ever 
breathed  again.  That  was  my  introduction  to 
your  blessed  continent.  And  I  have  n't  acquired 
much  "  —  he  surveyed  the  rags  he  stood  in  — 
"  by  way  of  identity  since." 

7 


Mr.  Bradshaw  felt  of  his  legal  side  whisker 
and  appeared  to  consider. 

"  May  I  ask,"  inquired  the  castaway,  "  why 
my  signature  was  not  submitted  to  my  father  ? 
Does  he  know  by  chance  that  I  'm  alive  1  " 

"  The  Cape  letters  have  all  been  forwarded," 
said  Mr.  Bradshaw  distinctly,  "  including  a  re- 
quisition for  certain  articles  in  the  nature  of  a 
lady's  wardrobe,  to  be  procured  by  us,  charged 
to  account  of  Mr.  Robert.  The  order  footed 
up  to  some  hundreds  of  dollars,  and  professed 
to  have  reference  to  an  approaching  wedding  at 
the  Cape." 

"  Mine,"  said  the  scapegrace.  "  The  bride 
was  the  lightkeeper's  daughter.  I  'd  been  liv- 
ing on  the  old  man,  wearing  his  clothes,  smok- 
ing his  cigars,  and  drinking  his  mescal.  Had 
to  square  accounts  somehow.  The  proposition 
pleased  him  as  long  as  he  thought  I  had  credit 
up  here.  But  when  you  gave  me  the  go-by, 
things  were  not  so  pleasant.  Did  you  forward 
that  list  to  the  pater  ]  " 

"  Certainly,"  said  Mr.  Bradshaw. 

A  long,  low  whistle  was  the  comment  of  its 
8 


author.  "  Well !  it  was  a  blazing  bluff,"  he 
sighed.  "  I  was  trying  for  a  stay  of  proceed- 
ings. Had  to  keep  the  band  playing.  The  cur- 
tain wouldn't  rise.  They  were  howling  for 
their  money  at  the  door  !  " 

Day  felt  inclined  to  laugh  at  these  mixed 
metaphors;  but  in  a  moment  the  situation 
changed.  "  D'  you  mean  to  say  you  have  n't 
heard  from  my  father,  —  not  since  he  got  that 
list?" 

"  Sit  down,"  said  Mr.  Bradshaw,  not  un- 
kindly. "  There  is  no  possible  way  of  verify- 
ing your  claim  at  present,  —  and  if  it  were 
established,  we  have  no  authority  to  assist  you 
to  the  extent  you  probably  expect.  Quite  other- 
wise, in  fact.  Mr.  Robert,  the  gentleman  you 
refer  to  as  your  father,  will  not  be  heard  from 
in  a  long  time,  I  fear.  He  has  gone  on  a  jour- 
ney, of  indefinite  duration  —  with  no  fixed  "  — 

"  What  are  you  getting  at?  Is  my  father 
dead  1 "  The  youngster  struck  his  hands  to- 
gether passionately. 

Mr.  Bradshaw  blinked.  He  hated  all  vio- 
lence, gesturing,  and  sudden  noises,  being  in  his 
9 


habits  not  unlike  an  elderly  and  well-bred  house 
cat.  "  Did  I  say  he  was  dead  1  "  he  retorted 
irritably.  "  He  is  traveling,  —  for  his  health, 
I  presume.  You  would  better  get  something  to 
eat,  sir.  It  might  help  you  to  compose  yourself. 
Go  with  him,  Day,"  —  he  turned  to  the  outside 
man.  "See  that  he  has  what  he  needs.  Get 
him  some  clothes,"  he  added  in  an  undertone. 
"He's  — really!" 

Clunie  had  promptly  risen  at  the  first  allusion 
to  a  breakfast.  He  faced  Mr.  Bradshaw  with 
an  ugly  laugh.  "  If  this  is  my  official  recep- 
tion, well  and  good.  But  I  am  Clunie  Robert, 
and  I  '11  swear  it,  —  on  the  hide  of  a  black 
man  and  the  blood  of  an  Englishman  !  "  The 
last-named  witness  burned  in  his  mahogany- 
colored  face  as  he  spoke.  "  And  you  know  I 
am  not  lying,  even  if  I  don't  carry  a  house 
flag  and  can't  show  my  papers.  Papers,  by 
thunder  ! "  ("  Thunder  "  was  not  the  word  he 
used.)  He  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  went 
out. 

In  the  street,  with  a  man  of  his  own  age,  he 
recovered  his  nonchalance  quickly.  "  Would  he 
10 


own  me  in  private,  d*  you  suppose  ?  A  pocket 
handkerchief  with  my  name  on  it  —  a  birth- 
mark —  would  be  handy  But  my  kit  is  at 
the  bottom  of  the  sea,  and  personally  I  'm 
made  like  any  other  man's  son.  There 's  no 
patent  on  me !  No ;  thanks  !  "  he  pleasantly 
demurred,  when  Day  invited  him  to  step  into 
a  clothing-store,  in  passing.  "Beefsteak  first! 
I  '11  eat  it  off  the  curbstone,  but  I  can't 
wait." 

They  walked  down  Sansome  Street  to  Mar- 
ket, —  every  man  and  woman  they  met  staring 
after  them,  —  the  blue-eyed  Apache  with  his 
head  in  the  air,  his  collarless  throat  exposed, 
sniffing  the  bakeshop  odors  and  the  scent  of 
violets  which  street  hawkers  humorously  thrust 
upon  him. 

"Buy  a  bunch  for  your  ladyl  Put  'em  in 
your  buttonhole  !  "  they  grinned. 

At  Winteringham's,  Day  had  the  pleasure  of 
watching  him  storm  his  way  through  a  four- 
course  breakfast,  casting  expressive  looks  across 
the  cloth  at  his  host.  On  the  last  course  he 
began  to  pick  and  play  a  little;  almost  he 
11 


Cije 


seemed  ready  to  talk.  They  brought  him  a 
finger-bowl,  and  he  lay  back  and  gazed  at  it, 
and  then  at  his  hands.  Day  had  been  looking 
at  those  hands,  and  marveling  greatly. 

"  What  a  pair  of  flippers,  eh !  Pretty 
things  to  dabble  in  a  finger-glass  !  Gad,  what 
wouldn't  I  have  given  for  that,  not  so  long 
ago  as  the  fruit  was  on  the  tree !  "  He  fished 
out  the  slice  of  lemon  awkwardly,  for  his  hands 
were  cramped  inward  like  claws,  and  held  it  up 
between  a  horny  thumb  and  finger.  "  Here 's 
to  the  thirst  I  had  in  the  whaleboats  off  St. 
Lucas  !  "  and  he  popped  it  into  his  mouth,  — 
to  the  scandal  of  the  waiter,  and  the  open 
amusement  of  the  neighboring  tables. 

"  You  were  in  that,  were  you  1 "  Day  inter- 
posed, trying  to  tone  him  down  to  a  conversa- 
tional level.  "Rattling  good  sport,  they  say 
it  is,  —  offshore  whaling  1 " 

"  Oh,  ripping  —  for  the  boat-steerer.  But 
the  man  at  the  oars  "  —  He  gazed  at  his  hands 
commiseratingly.  "That  is  work  they  give 
their  peons.  Feel  of  those  things !  "  They 
felt  like  the  foot  of  an  ostrich,  and  they  looked 
12 


as  if  he  had  dug  wells  with  them,  or  come  up 
from  the  Cape  on  all  fours. 

"  Where  did  you  get  them,  —  how  did  you 
get  them  1 "  Day  inquired. 

The  stranger  lighted  a  cigar  and  crossed  his 
long  legs,  regardless  that  he  showed  a  yard  of 
naked  tibia,  as  dark  and  coarse  as  a  plantation 
negro's. 

"  I  got  them  —  in  the  tide-rip  off  St.  Lucas," 
said  the  castaway,  between  glorious  puffs  of  his 
cigar.  "  Seven  days  a  week,  and  thirteen  hours 
a  day,  at  the  business  end  of  an  eighteen-foot 
sweep.  It  would  have  put  calluses  on  a  shark's 
fin!" 

"By  George!"  said  Day,  "they  used  you 
pretty  hard.  I  thought  they  would  treat  a  man 
white,  down  there." 

"  As  long  as  he  is  '  white.'  But  when  he 
begins  to  turn  a  little  shady,  —  figuratively 
speaking,  you  know.  See,  what  was  the  last 
you  had  from  me,  up  here  ?  "  By  the  nar- 
rator's manner,  one  might  have  supposed  the 
entire  business  of  the  house  had  been  hanging 
on  his  dispatches  from  the  Cape. 
13 


"  I  think  you  were  ordering1  the  —  a  — 
trousseau  for  your  bride,"  Day  reminded  him. 

"Quite  so,"  he  assented  affably.  "Well, 
the  shadows  were  falling  then.  Happen  to 
know  anything  about  those  good  Samaritans, 
down  there  I  They  would  split  their  last  frijole 
for  you  or  give  it  you  whole,  but  when  you  Ve 
worn  out  your  welcome  you  had  better  go  —  if 
you  can  go.  For  a  month  or  so,  at  first,  it  was 
'  Don  Pepe '  and  c  Don  Clunio,'  and  '  I  kiss  your 
hands,  senor,' and  the  same  to  your  feet,  seiiorita ! 
You  know  how  they  go  on  !  And  not  a  pair 
of  Christian  trousers  in  the  whole  shebang. 
Bags,  cotton  bags,  that  flap  around  your  shins, 
— mine  were  halfway  up  my  calves,  —  or  goat- 
skin chap's  with  the  hair  outside,  —  make  you 
look  like  a  blooming  satyr.  Then  your  gov- 
ernors sweetly  ignored  me,  and  that  took  the 
wind  out  of  my  sails,  as  I  was  saying. 

"  The  Pacific  Mail  captains  swore  they  de- 
livered my  letters ;  't  was  no  go.  It  was  stay, 
all  the  time !  My  name  to  a  piece  of  paper 
was  worth  no  more  than  a  bird  track  in  the 
sand ;  and  for  all  my  father's  connections  I  had 


talked  of  —  maybe  I  talked  a  bit  too  much, 
at  first  —  I  was  obviously  without  a  friend  on 
earth.  Then  my  stock  went  very  low  indeed. 
They  thought  if  there  was  a  Father  of  Lies,  I 
was  his  true  and  only  son.  It  was  then  I  wrote 
for  the  trousseau.  They  had  to  pause  and  con- 
sider that.  I  flourished  it  before  the  old  man's 
horns ;  he  was  a  covetous  old  brute.  He  didn't 
half  believe  it  would  come ;  still,  it  might.  So 
he  pawed  up  the  ground,  and  waited  over  an- 
other steamer. 

"  Poor  little  Concha,  with  her  bare  feet,  run- 
ning like  a  plover  on  the  beach,  and  her  che- 
mise slipping  off  her  shoulder  !  It  was  a  sin. 
But  she  had  a  month  of  pure  felicity  expecting 
that  lace  parasol  and  the  slippers  with  French 
heels. 

"How  should  I  know  your  governors  had 
no  bowels  ?  They  might  have  come  down  for 
something  to  save  a  poor  devil's  credit  on  a 
foreign  shore. 

"  Think  where  I  was,  —  great  Scott !  —  in  a 
place  where  a  man  will  do  anything,  leave  him 
there  long  enough.  It's  the  very  doormat 
15 


and  scraper  of  the  continent,  where  the  sea  is 
forever  wiping  its  feet.  And  not  a  sign  that 
any  soul  on  earth  cared  a  tuppenny  post  stamp 
whether  I  lived  or  died !  " 

By  this  time  the  young  men  were  largely 
occupying  the  attention  of  the  room.  Busy 
clerks  were  prolonging  their  luncheons,  to  stare 
at  the  Prince  of  Tramps,  with  his  case-hardened 
features,  and  drawing-room  accent,  and  enga- 
ging manner  of  the  family  black  sheep.  Day 
expected  that  a  reporter  would  be  down  upon 
them  shortly.  It  was  a  fit  interruption  when 
the  head  waiter  —  he  had  been  restless  for 
some  time  —  proposed  that  he  move  their  seats 
to  a  side  window,  intimating  that  they  were  ob- 
structing trade  at  the  busiest  hour. 

The  young  men  took  the  hint  and  went  out. 
Robert,  as  Day  did  not  scruple  to  call  him, 
fell  into  step,  with  a  long,  joyful  stride,  declar- 
ing there  was  no  music  to  compare  with  the 
beat  of  civilized  shoe  leather  on  the  pavements 
of  the  cities  of  the  world.  Sick  to  death  he 
was  of  treading  beach  sand,  of  the  pad,  pad  of 
bare  feet,  and  the  sluff,  sluff  of  sandals.  White 
16 


men  for  a  white  man  forever  !  As  for  the 
ladies !  He  pretended  to  require  Day's  instant 
support,  overcome  by  the  sight  of  a  pretty  girl 
tacking  across  the  street  in  one  of  the  triced-back 
overskirts  which  were  the  fashion  then.  By 
the  way  she  looked  Day  surmised  that  he  had 
kissed  his  hand  to  her.  In  front  of  Scheiffler's 
he  stopped  and  admired  his  full-length  reflection 
in  their  plate-glass  windows,  humming  an  appro- 
priate verse  from  "  Poor  old  Robinson  Crusoe !  " 

Day  dragged  him  inside,  where  he  conde- 
scendingly pulled  over  their  ready-made  stock. 
The  needful  articles  having  been  selected,  the 
pair  boarded  a  cable  car,  and  sailed  up  the  windy 
sandhills  to  Day's  lodgings,  where  the  castaway 
dressed  himself,  grumbling  like  a  lord  at  the  fit 
of  his  clothes,  which  made  him  look,  he  said, 
like  a  discharged  convict  in  a  suit  presented 
him  by  the  State. 

Whether  this  was  pure  animal  spirits  —  the 
intoxication  of  a  good  meal  —  or  a  sort  of 
heartsick  bravado,  or  was  put  on  merely  to 
bother  Day  (who  had  a  certain  New  England 
star  chine  ss  about  him),  cannot  be  said.  He 

17 


roamed  about  Day's  room,  oppressively  big  for 
the  place,  till  his  host  persuaded  him  to  sit  down 
and  finish  his  story.  Then  he  pulled  off  his' 
coat,  which  cut  him  in  the  armholes,  he  said,  so 
that  he  couldn't  talk,  and  sitting  in  his  shirt 
sleeves  by  the  open  window  he  lighted  a  pipe 
and  resumed :  — 

"  Well,  the  Don,  you  see,  had  got  tired  of 
feeding  me.  And  it  was  like  sand  under  his 
eyelids  to  lose  the  rich  son-in-law  he  had 
promised  himself.  I  was  ready  to  do  my  part. 
I  'd  have  married  anything  for  three  meals  a 
day  —  for  two  !  But  he  did  n't  want  me  as 
another  cipher  in  the  greatest  common  divisor, 
if  it  was  on  him  to  furnish  the  dividend.  It 
was  your  Dutch  uncles  up  here  who  stopped 
the  proceedings.  If  they  had  sent  the  cash  or 
the  clothes,  or  recognized  me  in  any  way,  there 
would  have  been  a  wedding  at  the  Cape,  and 
I  should  have  had  to  furnish  the  bridegroom. 
Just  as  well  for  me ;  but  it 's  a  rum  thing, 
when  you  think  of  it,  —  my  father's  son,  all 
the  heir  he  has  got,  refused  by  an  old  beggar  of 
a  Mexican  lightkeeper.  Refused  with  scorn 
18 


and  contumely,  and  worse !  He  took  back  the 
precious  wardrobe  he  had  loaned  me,  to  the  very 
last  stitch.  He  turned  me  out  in  a  breechclout, 
so  help  me  !  Talk  of  Indian  politeness  !  For 
a  hat  he  gave  me  a  rag  to  tie  round  my  head, 
and  the  sun  hits  hard  down  there.  He  sold  my 
time  to  the  whalers :  convict  labor  or  the  gal- 
leys, — call  it  what  you  will,  — it 's  their  little 
way  of  foreclosing  on  an  insolvent  debtor.  If 
you  can't  put  up  the  dinero,  you  pays  in  the 
sweat  of  your  brow.  I  paid  in  the  sweat  of 
my  whole  person  and  the  aches  of  my  entire 
bones.  I  was  baked  alive  and  basted ;  my  lips 
were  like  a  piece  of  pork  crackling  ;  my  eyelids 
were  puffed  out  even  with  my  forehead;  my 
back  was  a  running  sore.  I  paid  that  debt, 
by !  if  I  never  pay  another." 

"  And  how  about  the  lady  ]  "  Day  inquired. 
"  How  did  you  stand  on  her  books  ?  " 

If  young  Theseus  had  ever  had  a  conscience 
about  his  Ariadne  of  the  Cape,  he  had  com- 
pounded with  it,  like  the  child  of  nature  he  was, 
for  the  price  of  his  physical  suffering.  The 
New  England  boy  inferred  that  his  moral  sense 
19 


went  no  deeper  than  his  skin ;  hence  his  pride 
in  a  few  blisters. 

"  Bless  you,  a  woman  is  a  woman,  down 
there !  It  is  He  that  made  them,  not  they 
themselves."  (This  was  the  use  he  made  of  his 
prayer  book.)  "  I  might  have  opened  a  fresh 
account  with  Don  Pepe,  through  Conchita's  pity 
for  me.  But  I  'm  not  vindictive,"  said  he, 
reaching  for  a  match,  "and,"  pausing  to  re- 
light, "  what  would  I  have  done  with  the  girl, 
footing  it  up  to  Ensenada !  It 's  a  good  bit  of 
a  walk,  y'  know." 

"  So  you  did  not  get  your  discharge  I " 
asked  Day. 

"  Not  in  due  form.  But  they  were  easy  on 
me  toward  the  last.  They  kept  a  slack  watch. 
I  believe  the  beggars  were  honest.  They  took 
no  more  out  of  me  than  they  thought  was  their 
due.  It  was  a  good  few  miles  between  meal 
stations,  but  I  fetched  it  through.  And  I 
shipped  on  the  brig  Noyo  for  my  grub  and 
passage.  Those  slops  I  had  on  belong  to  a  big 
Finlander,  one  of  my  late  shipmates.  I  must  n't 
forget  to  return  them." 
20 


He  folded  up  those  foul  and  gritty  lendings 
as  if  they  had  been  his  maiden  dress  suit,  and 
expressed  them  tenderly,  at  Day's  expense,  to 
one  of  the  worst  waterside  dens  in  the  city. 

"  And  now,"  said  he,  "  we  will  arise  and  go 
to  —  our  Elder  Brother.  This  is  the  Prodigal 
who  came  home  when  the  Old  Man  was 
away." 

But  for  all  his  high  jocosity  Day  could  see 
that  he  was  nervous,  that  he  dreaded  the  inter- 
view on  which  his  status  in  the  city  would  de- 
pend. 

"  What  is  this  for  ? "  he  inquired,  when 
Mr.  Bradshaw  gravely  presented  him  with  a 
fifty-cent  piece.  It  was  explained  that  he  might 
apply  each  day  and  receive  the  same  amount, 
until  he  should  have  found  work,  which  the  firm 
would  help  him  to  procure  if  he  could  give  them 
some  idea  of  his  general  qualification. 

He  listened  with  amusement  and  contempt. 
"  I  Ve  been  at  work  for  the  past  eight  months," 
said  he.  "  Not  a  man  you  know  has  worked 
harder.  I  feel  qualified  now  for  a  bit  of  recre- 
ation." 


"  Recreate,  then,"  laughed  Mr.  Felix,  "  if 
you  know  how  to  do  it  on  fifty  cents  a  day." 

"  We  are  acting,"  Mr.  Bradshaw  interposed, 
"  in  obedience  to  Mr.  Robert's  latest  instructions 
concerning  his  son, —  whom  we  understand  you 
claim  to  be.  We  will  humor  your  claim,  under 
the  conditions  prescribed,  until  we  hear  what 
Mr.  Robert  himself  has  to  say  further  in  the 
matter." 

"You  will  humor  it  to  the  extent  of  fifty 
cents  a  day ! " 

It  was  pointed  out  to  him  how  easily  he 
might  be  an  impostor,  how  difficult  it  would  be 
to  prove  that  he  was  not,  and,  incidentally,  that 
his  record  at  the  Cape  had  not  helped  him 
much.  That  he  passed  over  as  beside  the 
mark. 

"  So  this  is  not  my  father's  money  1 "  He 
weighed  the  silver  lightly  in  his  hand.  "  This 
is  your  personal  half-dollar,  which  you  risk  on 
grounds  of  humanity]  Well,  thanks,  gentle- 
men,—  thanks  awfully !  I  need  it  very  much," 
—  he  laid  the  money  down,  —  "  and  I  shall 
need  it  more  to-morrow,  but  I  think  I  '11  make 


shift   to   get  on  without    it."     And,  perfectly 
good-humored,  he  walked  to  the  door. 

"  He  could  n't  resist  getting  even  with  us  on 
a  technical  scruple,"  laughed  Mr.  Felix ;  but 
he  was  nettled.  Mr.  Bradshaw  looked  grave. 
"  Go  after  him,"  he  said,  laying  some  gold  on 
Morton's  desk.  "  Pilot  him  to  a  decent  lodg- 
ing, and  keep  him  off  a  lee  shore  if  you 


can." 


New  England  overtook  New  Zealand  (both 
were  of  unmitigated  British  descent)  on  the 
corner  by  Lotta's  Fountain,  which  the  queen  of 
opera  bouffe  presented  to  an  appreciative  city. 
A  row  of  flower-peddlers'  handcarts  banked  the 
slippery  sidewalk.  Twilight  with  a  heavy  fog 
was  darkening  in. 

"  Go  away,  child !  "  Day  heard  him  exclaim 
to  a  girl  who  was  pestering  him  with  her  un- 
sold stock.  "  I  've  no  one  to  take  flowers  to ! " 

"  Get  some  one,  then,"  she  laughed,  and 
threw  a  piece  of  myrtle  at  him,  and  a  hard- 
voiced  woman  called  her  back  to  her  place. 

Day  proposed  that  they  go  somewhere  and 
dine  together. 


"  Not  to-night,"  said  Clunie.  "  You  Ve  had 
enough  of  me  for  one  sitting." 

But  he  found  no  difficulty  in  accepting  a 
small  loan  from  Day,  not  knowing  its  source, 
or  not  caring.  He  was  given  some  advice  as 
to  lodgings  and  eating-places;  but  he  made 
straight  for  the  wharves,  and  the  sea  fog  took 
him  home. 

At  the  last  he  had  said,  half  defensively,  as 
to  a  friend  :  — 

"  I  should  n't  mind  going  to  work  on  any 
decent  invitation  ;  but  hanged  if  I  '11  be  scourged 
to  it,  like  the  'galley  slave  at  night' !  I  Ve  been 
galley  slave  too  long !  " 

Day  did  not  press  on  him  his  own  opinion 
that  he  was  one  still,  —  and  so  the  young  men 
parted. 

On  Day's  return,  Mr.  Felix  laid  a  letter  be- 
fore him.  "  This  is  in  your  bailiwick,"  said  he. 
"  I  see  you  've  taken  a  liking  to  the  young 
scamp.  I  have  myself,  rather;  but  it  won't 
do  to  show  it.  Not  at  present.'' 

"  Then  you  think  he  is  young  Robert  1  " 

"  Oh,  by  Jove !  every  inch  of  him  !    The  old 


man  right  over  again.  He  was  a  high-roller 
himself,  in  early  colony  days.  He  's  no  cause 
to  complain.  But  they  are  the  very  worst  when 
they  get  it  back  in  their  sons.  And  the  mother, 
you  know,"  Mr.  Felix  added,  with  his  free,  tol- 
erant smile,  —  "  she  cut  her  cables  years  ago. 
Roaming  the  high  seas  now,  a  6  derelict,'  as 
somebody  says,  of  the  divorce  courts.  It  broke 
the  old  man  up  terribly.  You  'd  take  that  for 
the  handwriting  of  an  octogenarian.  He 's  in 
fact  not  sixty-five  !  " 

Day  was  glancing  over  the  letter  of  paternal 
instructions  to  which  Mr.  Felix  had  alluded. 

"  Was  n't  the  Woolahra  rather  cheap  trans- 
portation for  a  millionaire's  only  son  1 "  he 
asked. 

"  Part  of  the  scheme  of  redemption,"  Mr. 
Felix  replied.  "  He  had  shut  down  on  the 
boy  all  at  once,  after  giving  him  his  head 
since  he  was  a  kid.  Moreover,  the  old  gentle- 
man is  canny.  Observe  how  he  figures  on  the 
penitential  allowance.  He  does  n't  propose  to 
butter  the  bread  of  idleness.  If  Clunie  wants 
to  eat  it,  he  '11  eat  it  dry." 
25 


"  It 's  disgusting  to  make  him  come  for  it,  in 
person,"  said  Day,  still  reading.  "  It  seems 
he  's  not  to  have  the  cash  for  two  days'  rations 
in  hand  at  once  ! " 

"  Oh,  it  takes  an  old  boy  who  has  been  there 
to  reckon  with  the  deceitfulness  of  youth." 

"  That  was  why  he  did  not  write  direct  to 
his  father,  perhaps  \  " 

"  Exactly.  But  you  see,  by  that  letter,  we 
are  forbidden  to  give  him  any  assistance  at  long 
range.  The  old  gentleman  is  sound  on  that 
head.  You  can't  lead  a  wild  colt  with  a  long 
halter.  So  you  will  just  keep  track  of  the  fes- 
tive Clunie  as  well  as  you  can,  but  don't 
meddle  with  him.  It 's  his  own  fight,  now. 
It  would  be  a  pity  to  interfere  when  Mother 
Nature  takes  him  across  her  knee.  She  gave 
him  a  foretaste  down  at  the  Cape,  but  it  's 
nothing  to  what  she  has  in  soak  for  him,  if  I 
know  this  city."  Day  listened,  and  fed  his 
youthful  cynicism  with  thinking  on  what  Mr. 
Felix  was  and  had  been,  and  how  well  he  did 
know  the  city !  In  his  case  Mother  Nature  had 
shown  thus  far  the  partiality  of  the  weakest 


human  parent.  He  had  had  the  luck  of  a  prize 
scholar,  and,  except  for  a  tendency  to  obesity, 
which  he  shared  with  many  of  the  godly,  ap- 
peared to  have  a  constitution  to  match  his  theory 
of  life. 

A  few  days  later,  the  outside  man  came 
across  young  Robert's  course  over  in  Brooklyn 
Basin,  where  a  race  was  on  between  the  ships' 
boats  of  some  British  vessels  anchored  there. 
He  promptly  borrowed  every  cent  that  Day 
had  about  him,  and  staked  it  on  the  Rathdown's 
boat.  The  Rathdowns  were  plunging  tremen- 
dously, taking  any  odds  that  offered ;  they 
seemed  to  regard  the  race  as  already  theirs. 
Clunie  explained  that  the  Rathdown  had  been 
rough-handled  in  a  hurricane  in  the  south  lati- 
tudes, had  lost  one  of  her  port  boats,  and  put 
into  Auckland  to  replace  it.  The  boat  they 
were  entering  was  the  Maorilander.  Clunie's 
eyes  sparkled  as  he  studied  her. 

"  She  's  of  kauri  pine,"  said  he.  "  She  's 
out  of  an  Auckland  yard,  and  they  are  betting 
against  her  on  their  thundering  old  British 
plank !  Man,  it 's  a  walk-over ! " 

27 


It  was  a  great  little  race.  Day  left  their  mu- 
tual winnings  with  Clunie,  and  dined  with  him 
and  the  British  shipmasters  at  the  Poodle  Dog. 
Business  called  him  away  before  the  songs  and 
toasts  began ;  but  when  he  left  them  they  were 
talking  of  Auckland,  —  Clunie's  mother  Auck- 
land, —  and  raking  all  the  latitudes  and  longi- 
tudes for  mutual  acquaintances. 

Thereafter,  for  a  time,  he  seemed  to  have 
friends  and  money  enough.  He  came  to  the 
office,  inquiring  for  letters,  in  a  suit  of  Dean 
&  Cramseys',  which  showed  his  beautiful, 
clean  build.  His  hands  were  gloved.  His 
bleached  hair  had  recovered  its  life  and  lustre. 
The  hollows  were  gone  from  around  his  eyes, 
and  the  high,  hard  burnish  from  his  cheek 
bones.  He  looked  his  age,  or  his  youth,  once 
more.  Mr.  Felix  frankly  delighted  in  him: 
like  King  Hal,  he  loved  a  man.  But  Morton 
the  Wise  warned  Clunie  that  neither  of  them 
could  sit  up  nights  with  Mr.  Felix.  He  was 
one  generation  nearer  than  they,  to  that  tough 
old  stock  whose  Plimsoll  mark  was  the  third 
bottle ;  who  bequeathed  their  nerves  and  appe- 
28 


tites  without  their  sledge-hammer  wills  and 
ironclad  stomachs. 

Clunie  laughed,  and  said,  "  Sour  grapes  !  " 
And,  indeed,  he  had  quite  cut  out  Morton  with 
his  former  patron.  The  grim  old  chief,  mean- 
while, was  faithfully  urging  a  trial  of  the  boy, 
in  some  situation  or  other,  among  his  friends ; 
but  business  men  who  saw  the  company  he 
kept  smiled  and  had  no  use  for  him. 

Mr.  Felix  then  went  to  London,  and  the  face 
of  the  city  changed  for  Clunie.  His  sky-rocket 
life  of  pleasure,  founded  on  the  fancy  of  an  idle 
man,  had  gone  up  like  a  spark,  and  he  was  left 
with  the  stick  in  his  hand.  There  was  nothing 
then  in  San  Francisco  that  could  have  been 
called  society.  Mr.  Felix  lived  with  the  noto- 
rious set,  and  laughed  at  them  in  certain  inner 
circles,  professional  and  family  cliques,  to  which 
he  presumably  belonged.  And  a  few  persons 
in  quiet  homes  were  building  up  the  sort  of 
lives  that  can  save  any  city.  But  of  these 
Clunie  could  have  known  nothing,  and  prob- 
ably deserved  to  know  nothing. 

The  firm  was  aware  of  a  growing  anxiety 
29 


and  constraint  in  his  manner  when  he  made  his 
periodical  inquiries  for  letters  or  news  of  his 
father.  After  a  while  he  ceased  to  inquire  by 
name:  he  would  drop  in  casually,  and,  hearing 
nothing  to  his  advantage,  would  feign  a  rather 
careworn  interest  in  general  topics  and  depart, 
carrying  the  house's  sympathy  with  him.  For 
there  was  no  longer  any  reasonable,  comforting 
explanation  of  his  father's  silence.  There  was 
no  relenting,  to  the  effect  of,  "  This  my  son 
was  dead,  and  is  alive  again;  he  was  lost,  and 
is  found." 

At  length,  out  of  the  pitiless  region  of  the 
Unexpected,  came  a  staggering  blow.  An  uncle 
of  Clunie's,  in  England,  his  father's  brother, 
whom  he  had  never  seen,  wrote  to  the  firm, 
stating  that  Mr.  Robert  had  arrived  among  his 
kindred  in  a  most  deplorable  condition,  mental 
and  physical.  He  had  since  improved  in  health, 
but  his  mind  had  failed  to  such  a  degree  that 
medical  experts  pronounced  him  unfit  for  the 
management  of  his  own  affairs ;  and  the  under- 
signed, together  with  another  brother,  had  been 
appointed  his  guardians  and  the  administrators 
SO 


of  his  estate.  As  to  the  presumptive  heir  in 
America,  it  seemed  better  not  to  act  in  haste. 
Steps  were  being  taken  toward  his  identifica- 
tion. Large  property  interests  were  at  stake, 
and  it  would  require  time  to  sift  his  claim. 
Meanwhile,  as  his  conduct  appeared  to  have 
been  not  in  all  ways  satisfactory,  it  might  be 
well,  in  any  case,  to  continue  the  policy  which 
Mr.  Robert  had  marked  out  for  his  son,  —  of 
throwing  him  as  far  as  possible  on  his  own  re- 
sources, that  he  might  learn  the  value  of  money 
through  the  need  of  earning  it,  and  of  friends 
by  endeavoring  to  deserve  them. 

The  chief  made  this  communication  as  gently 
as  possible,  forbearing  altogether  to  rub  it  in. 
But  his  attitude  of  sympathy  was  not  well  re- 
ceived ;  possibly  it  had  come  too  late. 

From  this  time  forth  Clunie  made  no  further 
scruple  about  accepting  the  despised  allowance. 
He  took  it  carelessly,  asking  no  questions  as  to 
its  source.  He  came  for  it  every  day,  like  a  dog 
to  the  kitchen  door  for  his  bone,  with  far  less 
shame  than  Morton  had  in  doling  it  out  to  him, 
—  the  great,  strapping  fellow  with  his  home- 
31 


sick  eyes !  He  was  the  true  Islander,  of  all 
provincials  the  most  self-centred  and  haughty. 
Their  world  was  not  his  world ;  he  loved  them 
too  little  to  mind  accepting  their  help,  or  care 
what  might  be  their  opinion  of  him  in  so 
doing. 

San  Francisco  is  a  city  where  good  food  is 
exceedingly,  astonishingly  cheap ;  but  fifty  cents 
a  day,  including  a  night's  lodging,  does  not 
leave  much  margin  for  incidentals.  A  man 
living  at  that  figure,  and  gambling  on  his  in- 
come, as  Clunie  probably  did,  cannot  keep  him- 
self at  the  level  of  the  polite  occupations ;  the 
mark  of  the  slums  is  on  him.  To  the  slums 
he  must  go  for  employment.  But  Morton, 
seeing  that  the  chiefs  had  done  what  they  could 
for  the  prodigal  and  failed  in  their  sphere  of 
influence,  thought  that  he  might  try  an  elder- 
brotherly  experiment  of  his  own. 

In  a  cold-blooded  way  he  informed  him  that 
the  firm,  through  their  outside  man,  was  paying 
from  sixty  to  seventy-five  dollars  per  month  in 
boat  hire,  and  proposed  that  Clunie  should  rent 
a  boat,  till  he  could  afford  to  buy  one,  and  set 
32 


up  as  a  harbor  boatman.     Day  would  prefer 
him  to  the  patronage  of  the  house. 

"  Have  n't  the  capital,  y'  know,  to  start  me 
in  business,"  was  the  answer.  "  I  could  n't 
rent  the  dingiest  dory  in  the  slips,  on  tick." 

That  obstacle  being  removed,  he  fell  in  with 
the  plan  listlessly,  with  the  air  of  anything-to- 
oblige-a-friend.  But  hard  and  regular  exer- 
cise and  the  spell  of  life  on  the  water  soon 
began  to  tone  him  up.  His  eye  brightened,  his 
skin  cleared.  He  picked  up  his  self-respect, 
the  more  that  his  place,  humble  as  it  was,  by 
no  means  wanted  him  as  he  needed  it.  His 
rivals  of  the  water  front  put  him  through  a  stiff 
competitive  examination.  They  saw  no  room  for 
an  interloper  with  what  appeared  to  be  a  "  pull." 

He  fought  them  between  whiles,  and  raced 
them,  man  to  man,  and  captured  even  the  reluc- 
tant admiration  of  those  swells  in  port,  the  men- 
o'-war's  men. 

"  You  pulls  a  narsty  scull,  sir !  "  said  one  of 
the  gig's  crew  of  H.  M.  S.  the  Royal  Arthur, 
lying  out  in  the  Bay,  on  her  way  to  join  the 
Northwest  Squadron. 

S3 


"  Now,  why  does  he  give  you  '  sir '  I  "  asked 
Day.  "  How  does  he  know  you  are  not  a  pro- 
fessional 1  " 

"  It 's  easy  to  know  things,"  Clunie  answered 
sulkily.  "  He  could  n't  hide  the  cut  of  his  jib 
if  he  was  carryin'  home  the  wash.  It  is  n't 
knowing  things ;  it's  knowing  when  to  keep  'em 
to  yourself,  —  eh,  Missus  1  Better  let  sleeping 
dogs  lie  1  " 

The  "  Missus "  was  one  of  many  brevet 
titles  bestowed  at  random  by  Clunie  on  a  name- 
less pup  of  the  undesirable  sex  which  he  had 
lately  acquired.  She  was  the  butt  of  his  prac- 
tical jokes,  the  suffering  medium  of  his  high 
spirits,  the  text  of  his  errant  philosophy.  She 
was  a  buffer  when  the  two  young  men,  in  their 
now  almost  daily  intercourse,  drifted  too  close 
to  each  other's  moorings.  Above  all,  she  was 
a  proof  that  he  was  putting  out  roots  on  for- 
eign soil.  When  an  Englishman  takes  a  dog 
to  bring  up,  it  is  equivalent  to  a  Frenchman's 
planting  a  salad  bed. 

By  the  following  spring,  Clunie,  in  partner- 
ship with  Day  (who  represented  the  capital 
34 


invested),  was  the  respected  and  generally  re- 
spectable owner  of  a  Whitehall  boat,  which  he 
christened  the  Salvation  Lassie,  in  mock  de- 
ference to  the  popular  belief  in  the  regenerative 
influence  of  hard  work. 

« <  This  is  the  Way  I  long  have  sought, 
And  wept  because  I  found  it  not,'  " 

he  would  shout,  at  the  top  of  his  brazen  head 
tones,  in  imitation  of  a  Salvationers'  chorus, 
and  drum  with  his  oars  in  the  oarlocks. 

But  there  were  deviations  from  the  Way. 
When  Morton  would  find  the  boat  dirty  and 
neglected,  and  Clunie,  in  a  similar  condition, 
the  worse  for  his  chief  weakness,  broaching 
acquaintance  with  every  species  of  waterside 
vagabond,  he  would  ignore  his  partner,  and  go 
out  with  another  man.  And  Clunie  would  have 
to  submit  to  the  jeers  of  his  rivals  in  conse- 
quence. 

But  this  was  business. 


II 


THE  British  tramp  steamer,  Sumbawa,  had 
heen  signaled  as  off  the  Heads.  Day 
rushed  down  for  Clunie  and  the  boat,  for  it 
was  altogether  desirable  that  he  should  meet 
her  before  the  customs  officers  came  aboard. 
She  was  consigned  to  the  Bradshaws,  from 
Hong-Kong,  with  a  chowchow  cargo,  and  she 
had  fifteen  hundred  coolies  between  decks. 

There  were  points  in  maritime  law  on  which 
the  coolie-trade  in  those  days  considered  itself 
forced  to  jibe  a  little.  The  law,  it  was  claimed, 
having  been  made  for  the  Western  Ocean,  did 
not  fit  the  Asiatic.  A  coolie-ship's  bunks  were 
put  in  athwartships,  which  is  a  thing  no  cus- 
toms officer  must  see.  "  But  the  heathen  likes 
to  sleep  that  way,"  argued  the  trade.  "He 
battens  on  bad  air,  and  he  does  n't  mind  how 
close  he  stows  if  he  can  get  his  passage 
cheaper." 

36 


Day  took  the  second  pair  of  sculls,  and  they 
pulled  out  beyond  Point  Lobos,  where  he  met 
his  steamer  and  climbed  aboard  of  her.  While 
he  was  below,  watching  the  carpenters  knock 
out  the  bunks,  a  case  of  smallpox  was  uncov- 
ered, which  the  heathen  had  been  hiding,  hop- 
ing to  smuggle  it  ashore,  and  so  keep  the 
patient  out  of  the  clutches  of  the  foreign  devils' 
doctors. 

Day  was  overside  like  a  shot,  and  he  discussed 
the  matter  at  long  range  with  the  captain.  He 
had  known  nothing  of  it,  of  course,  and  he  was 
wild.  But  the  Sumbawa  got  her  sixty  days 
in  quarantine,  with  seventeen  hundred  persons, 
white,  brown,  and  yellow,  on  board.  And  the 
cost  of  that  case  of  smallpox  to  the  consignees 
was  fifty-eight  thousand  dollars. 

Every  day  the  two  young  men  rowed  out  to 
quarantine  grounds  to  inquire  after  the  ship's 
health,  and  superintend  the  unloading  of  fresh 
cases  for  the  pest-house.  They  would  pull  to 
windward  of  her,  dropping  astern  under  her 
cabin  ports,  to  heave  a  bundle  of  newspapers 
aboard  and  condole  with  the  raging  captain. 

37 


He  was  one  of  the  old  stripe,  with  little  by  way 
of  education,  but  such  as  is  got  at  a  rope's  end, 
aboard  of  a  "  hot "  ship  ;  but  Heaven  had  sent 
him  a  good  little  wife,  —  a  pretty  one,  too,  — 
and  she  was  the  only  woman  on  board.  Often 
her  little  white  face  would  look  down  from  a 
porthole  next  the  one  that  framed  the  captain's 
red  chaps.  Their  two  heads,  against  the  ship's 
black,  blistered  side,  were  a  curious  contrast,  — 
the  extremes  of  a  union  made  of  spirit  and  flesh. 
Her  eyebrows  and  eyelashes  were  as  black  as  a 
bayadere's,  but  her  eyes  were  true  Northern 
gray. 

She  grew  pinched  in  the  face  and  paler,  day 
by  day,  for  the  foul  sickness  was  spreading,  and 
that  ship  was  a  floating  hell.  The  coolies  for- 
ward were  in  open  mutiny,  as  far  as  uproar  and 
intention  went,  resisting  vaccination  and  fight- 
ing like  demons  when  they  were  carried  off  the 
ship. 

The  captain  became  confidential,  and  sounded 

the  young  men,  when  his  wife  was  not  by,  on 

a  scheme  for  smuggling  her  ashore,  in  which 

he  was  frankly  counting  on  their  assistance. 

38 


He  was  not  delicate  of  speech,  but  in  his  rough 
way  he  felt  her  situation  keenly. 

"  She  's  a  countrywoman  of  yours,  boys,"  he 
began  diplomatically.  "  She  's  an  American. 
I  found  her  in  Hong-Kong  teaching." 

"  I  'm  not  an  American  !  "  sang  out  Clunie 
from  the  boat. 

The  captain  changed  his  quid  and  touched 
his  cap  to  Clunie.  "  I  thought  ye  were  born 
under  the  old  rag.  The  less  you  cares  for  the 
laws  of  a  foreign  port,  eh  1 " 

"  Quarantine  laws  are  the  laws  of  civiliza- 
tion," Day  warned  him. 

"  Grant  you  that !  Ain't  we  a-keeping  them  I 
But  my  wife  don't  come  into  this  case.  What 
has  she  got  to  do  with  them  pigtails  down  be- 
low ?  'Ere  she  is  in  a  home  port,  the  first  time 
in  seven  years,  and  caught  in  this  infernal 
plague-trap.  .  .  .  And  every  day,"  he  lowered 
his  voice,  "  brings  her  nearer  to  her  time,  when 
a  woman  needs  a  woman's  help.  Whoever 
comes  aboard  of  us  stays  in  hell  with  us  to  the 
end.  Where  's  the  female  who  '11  do  that,  I 
ask  you  ?  The  wife's  sister  might,  but  she  's 
39 


Cfje 


not  here.  She  's  up  in  one  o'  the  Puget  Sound 
ports.  And  I  would  n't  allow  it,  anyhow.  It  's 
not  justifiable.  But  something,  I  say,  has  got 
to  be  done.  You  're  not  family  men  yourselves, 
but  you  may  be.  And  every  man  is  the  woman's 
brother  in  a  case  like  this.  Come,  boys,  for 
the  sake  of  the  mother  that  was,  —  for  the  sake 
of  the  wife  that  will  be  !  " 

It  was  strong  talk,  and  the  tone  of  the  cap- 
tain's eloquence  was  very  strong  of  whiskey. 
The  combined  effect,  with  other  considerations, 
was  decidedly  repellant  to  Day.  They  were 
not  the  men  for  the  emergency,  he  told  the  cap- 
tain ;  it  was  work  for  their  betters. 

The  captain  recognized  the  excuse,  and  it 
angered  him.  "  Where  are  your  betters  \  The 
best  man  for  me  is  him  that  'elps  me  now  ! 
She  can't  afford  to  wait,  if  you  was  to  charter 
us  an  angel." 

"  Had  he  spoken  to  the  doctors'?  "  Day  asked. 

"  To  the  devil  with  the  doctors  !  Did  they 
know  by  chance  what  a  coolie-ship  doctor  would 


The  quarantine  doctor  \     He  cursed  him  as 
40 


well.  He  was  a  part  of  their  blankety-blanked 
political  machine.  "  'E  would  n't  risk  'is  job  to 
save  every  life  on  board.  'E  farms  us  out,  — 
so  many  vaccinations  at  a  dollar  the  'ead,  —  and 
a  sweet  time  they  'as  with  some  of  us  !  You 
'ear  those  devils  now  t  " 

The  coolies  were  confined  behind  the  iron 
bulkheads  forward ;  they  were  banging  on  their 
prison  walls  and  howling  like  the  damned. 

Clunie  dipped  his  oars  softly,  to  keep  the 
boat  off  her  proper  length  from  the  ship.  The 
ten  feet  of  water  that  divided  them  was  the 
Gulf  of  Common  Sense.  Day,  for  his  part, 
had  no  mission  to  cross  it. 

The  captain's  angry,  troubled  eye  fixed  itself 
suddenly  on  a  point  behind  Day's  head.  Turn- 
ing, the  latter  caught  a  lightning  wink  pass 
from  Clunie  to  the  captain,  who  dropped  his 
eyes  and  pretended  that  some  one  had  called  him. 

Clunie  gave  his  partner  a  forcible  hint  in  the 
back,  for  just  then  the  quarantine  watch  strolled 
over  to  the  side,  and  warned  them  not  to  come 
too  near. 

Nothing  was  said  in  the  boat  going  home. 
41 


Clunie  knew  that  Day  must  know  of  his  tacit 
offer  to  the  captain.  He  also  knew  that  Day 
would  neither  argue  with  him  nor  interfere. 

When  the  misty  August  nights  grew  darker 
by  the  absence  of  a  moon,  Clunie  informed  his 
partner  that  he  need  not  look  for  him  on  his 
beat  for  a  day  or  two  —  or  three.  He  brought 
him  the  Missus,  and  requested  him  to  care  for 
her,  with  obliging  particulars  as  to  the  diet  best 
suited  to  the  period  of  canine  dentition. 

"  Have  you  found  your  second  man  I  "  asked 
Day. 

"  I  shall  have  to  make  it  alone,"  said  Clunie. 
"  Too  many  in  the  secret  now.  Speke  has  fixed 
it  up  with  Black  Jake,  one  of  the  stevedores, 
for  a  place  on  shore.  A  shady  outfit  they  are. 
The  house  has  been  empty  a  year.  It  is  up 
Petaluma  Creek,  a  little  this  side  of  Vallejo." 

"  Forty  miles,  if  it 's  one !  "  said  Day.  "  And 
you  will  have  to  start  with  the  tide  against  you, 
or  you  won't  get  high  water  in  the  creek;  and 
you  can't  get  up  it  without.  It  is  full  of  nasty 
shoals  and  eelgrass.  You  need  another  man, 
Clunie." 


"  Dare  say  I  do.  I  need  a  steam  launch  ! 
But  it 's  this  way :  the  sort  of  help  you  could 
hire  for  a  job  like  this  might  sell  you  out  to  the 
harbor  police.  Blest  if  I  know  any  man  we 
could  trust.  Why  won't  you  come,  yourself? 
Traid  of  the  smallpox  I  " 

"  Well,  yes"  said  Day,  though  Clunie  knew 
this  was  not  his  reason.  "  Are  n't  you  ?  But 
I  'm  a  good  deal  more  afraid  of  the  pesthouse. 
If  you  catch  it,  old  man,  shoot  yourself,  —  drop 
yourself  into  the  bay,  but  don't  go  there  ! " 

"  It 's  no  barge  picnic,"  Clunie  admitted. 
"  But  they  will  do  the  proper  thing  about  disin- 
fecting, of  course.  That 's  understood." 

"  They  think  they  will.  But  who  ever  does, 
—  unless  it 's  done  under  orders  "?  You  can't 
persuade  a  woman  to  burn  her  clothes.  She 
will  make  some  doting  exception,  and  that  will 
fix  you." 

"  Hang  it !  There  is  the  bay,  then  !  If  I 
turn  up  missing,  you  need  n't  inquire  for  me  at 
the  bourn  whence  no  traveler  returns." 

Missing  he  was,  and  still  absent,  when,  four 
days  later,  Day  rowed  out  alone,  to  quarantine 
43 


for  a  quiet  word  with  the  captain.  In  the  interval 
he  had  avoided  speech  with  him,  not  feeling 
entitled  to  seek  his  confidence,  after  refusing 
him  his  help. 

The  captain  was  on  deck,  pacing  back  and 
forth  against  the  one  low  strip  of  color  in  the  west. 
The  yellow  quarantine  flag  was  at  half-mast. 
He  did  not  perceive  Day  —  the  surface  of  the 
water  being  muffled  in  light  fog  —  until  the 
customary  signal  had  been  given.  Then  he 
stopped,  looked  toward  the  boat  without  reply- 
ing to  her  hail,  and  went  below.  Directly  his 
head  appeared  at  the  more  confidential  level  of 
his  cabin  windows.  Outwardly  the  man  was 
changed  for  the  worse  in  the  brief  interval  since 
Day  had  seen  him  near.  His  unshaven  dew-lap 
hung  over  a  soiled  collar ;  his  flesh  looked  flabby 
and  old.  Yet  there  was  an  effect  of  dumb  dig- 
nity about  him  which  Day,  out  of  an  uneasy 
consciousness,  mistook  at  first  for  resentment. 

He  began  to  question  him  cautiously. 

"  Have  you  seen  anything  of  Robert,  captain  ? 
He  has  n't  been  around  lately." 

The  captain  cleared  his  throat.  "  'Ave  n't 
44. 


you  'card,  then  I  Bad  news,  they  say,  travels 
fast." 

"  Not  a  word,  captain.  Sorry  it 's  bad  news." 
Day  was  thinking  only  of  Clunie,  persuaded 
that  he  had  made  a  mess  of  his  heroics,  some- 
how. 

"  Come  in  closer  —  fetch  'er  in !  You  've 
no  more  to  fear  from  us.  We  've  'ad  our  last 
case.  It  takes  the  best  you  've  got,  and  then  it 
quits." 

"  Captain,  you  don't  mean  —  your  wife,  she 
has  n't  got  it  ]  "  The  sickness  they  always 
spoke  of  as  "  it." 

"  Naw,  naw !  "  the  captain  groaned.  "  She  's 
past  all  that.  It 's  all  in  the  same  bill  o'  goods, 
though.  A  piece  o'  foul  mismanagement  from 
the  start.  I  've  no  wish  to  be  'ard  on  Robert. 
'E  's  pretty  much  a  fool ;  but  'e  done  the  work, 
—  'e  got  her  there,  Lord  knows  how  !  Forty 
miles  inside  of  eight  hours.  You  can  tell  'em 
that  when  you  'ears  'em  throwin'off  on  Clunie." 

"  Captain,  it 's  impossible  !  "  said  Day.  And 
though  the  outside  man  has  told  this  story  in 
select  company  many  times  since,  he  invariably 
45 


balks  at  the  distance  when  he  tells  it  to  any  one 
who  happens  to  know  that  course  :  the  tide  rip 
off  Alcatraz  and  the  eight  or  ten  miles  of  heavy 
work  above.  Then,  when  you  have  reached  your 
bottom  reserve,  when  you  have  settled  to  your 
stroke  and  can  just  hold  it,  if  nothing  jars  you 
or  throws  you  out,  when  every  change  of 
course,  or  slightest  motion  in  the  boat,  is  pure, 
utter  agony,  —  then  to  wash  into  the  weeds  and 
shoals  and  maddening  windings  of  the  creek! 
The  perspiration  started  as  he  thought  of  it. 

"  Captain,  why  did  he  make  it  a  race  ]  Were 
they  chased  ]  " 

u  A  race  it  was  — for  the  life  of  the  child. 
Her  time  was  come,  —  unexpected,  mind.  I 
would  n't  'ave  played  that  trick  on  no  man.  But 
it  was  more  than  nature  could  bear,  what  we 
undertook  to  do,  with  such  'elp  as  the  Lord 
allowed  us.  You  may  say  it  was  work  for  our 
betters  ! 

"  If  we  'ad  rigged  a  bo'sun's  chair  and  sent 

her  down  comfortable  an'  handy —    The  watch 

would  'ave  seen  her,  you  say  !     They  're  men  : 

they  'ad  to  wink  at  the  job  as  it  was  ;  they 

46 


might  'ave  winked  a  little  'arder.  But  we  low- 
ered her  —  damn  fools  !  —  from  one  o'  the 
lumber  ports,  away  aft.  We  'ad  to  put  her  in 
the  sling,  and  she  was  frightened  going  over- 
side." 

"  Don't  talk  of  it,  captain."  Day  tried  to 
spare  him.  But  he  went  on,  like  a  man  trans- 
fixed, tugging  at  the  shaft  in  his  breast.  His 
speech  was  hot  with  pain. 

"Talk !  What 's  left  but  talk  ?  She  'ad  the 
bearin'  of  it !  If  you  're  too  damn  delicate  to 
listen,  why  sheer  off,  in  God's  name !  I  know 
the  sort  you  are  !  "  he  raved.  "  You  left  'er  to 
Providence  and  the  doctors  !  If  you  'ad  a  stood 
by  Clunie  as  he  stood  by  her  —  as  he  tried  to 
—  she  might  be  a  livin',  'appy  mother  now. 
Arsk  Clunie !  It  has  taken  his  blood  down. 

"  The  house  was  back,  a  cable's  length  from 
the  creek,  and  up  a  hill.  'E  'ad  to  carry  her, 
and  'e  said  'e  could  n't  'ardly  see.  His  under- 
lip  was  draggin'  in  the  sand.  But  'e  fetched  her 
in.  Then  he  lay  down  in  the  porch,  for  there 
was  no  more  in  him.  He  remembers  the  black 
woman  telling  him  he  must  up  and  go  for  help, 

47 


and  'e  says,  '  Give  me  a  drink,  —  anything  at 
all,  —  and  maybe  I  can  start.'  He  gives  her  the 
credit  for  denying  him,  but  'ave  it  'e  would,  and 
more  than  'e  needed.  And  that  night,  that  next 
night  —  all  that  time,  and  yet  for  want  of  help  ! 
But  the  woman  could  n't  leave  her ;  and  she  was 
ignorant  as  a  horse.  She  was  n't  for  that  work. 
And  Clunie  sleepin'  off  his  liquor ! 

"  He  's  doin'  now  what  the  law  won't  let  me 
do  for  my  own  flesh  and  blood.  Did  I  tell  you 
she  left  me  a  fine  boy  ?  But  I  don't  wish  to 
see  his  face  nor  'ave  'im  come  anigh  this  cursed 
ship.  We  'ave  sent  for  the  little  sister,  and  if 
she  's  true  to  the  breed  she  '11  do.  I  want  to  find 
a  berth  for  her  here  in  the  city,  if  she  '11  bide 
and  keep  the  child  and  bring  him  up  right  and 
proper,  as  his  mother  would.  But  everything 
is  out  o'  my  reach.  I  'm  chained  up  'ere  like 
a  house  dog.  I  can  bark  till  I  burst ;  it  won't 
help  nor  hinder. 

"  Well,  give  a  grip  of  my  'and  to  Robert, 

and  bid  him  quit  calling  of  himself  a  beast,  — 

the  more  as  I  count  on  him  now  to  take  my 

place  ashore.     He  says  the  black  woman  has 

48 


froze  onto  that  baby :  let  'er  tie  up,  then,  along- 
side the  little  sister.  But  you  look  her  up,  and 
see  what  sort  she  is." 

Day  accepted  this  humble  trust  as  a  proof  of 
the  captain's  forgiveness,  and  silently  pulled  off 
from  the  ship.  A  night  of  fog  cloaked  the 
water ;  he  rowed  home  slowly,  piloted  by  red 
and  green  lanterns  that  pricked  through  the 
murk  from  invisible  docks  and  ferry  slips  along- 
shore and  from  ghostly  vessels  in  the  harbor. 
The  city's  crown  of  lights  arched  upward  in  the 
distance  like  an  announcement  of  moonrise  in 
some  dream  country  where  mists  take  the  shape 
of  mountains  and  the  mountains  are  like  brood- 
ing mists. 

He  thought  of  that  house  up  Petaluma  Creek, 
where  the  young  mother  lay  among  strangers  ; 
and  he  thought  of*  Clunie.  sleeping  his  brutish 
sleep  at  the  door  of  the  holy  of  holies,  while  the 
great  angels  of  Life  and  Death  fairly  brushed 
him  with  their  wings.  His  absence,  his  reti- 
cence when  he  did  appear,  his  loss  of  flesh  and 
averted  eye,  seemed  to  promise  some  approach 
to  seriousness  in  the  Prodigal;  but  whether 
49 


the  change  in  him  would  outlast  the  shock  of 
his  failure,  the  shame  of  it  in  the  very  hour 
of  triumph,  there  were  none  who  knew  him  or 
his  forbears  well  enough  to  prophesy. 

The  Sumbawa  had  cleared  for  Hong-Kong, 
and  the  captain's  son  was  left  in  charge  of  the 
maiden  aunt.  She  had  come  up  to  everybody's 
expectations  of  her  in  all  possible  ways,  Day 
learned  —  from  hearsay  ;  he  was  offered  no 
opportunity  of  judging  for  himself.  Clunie  ap- 
peared to  be  taking  full  and  jealous  advantage 
of  the  responsibility  magnanimously  conferred 
upon  him  by  the  captain,  and  was  by  no  means 
as  generous  in  sharing  it. 

"  About  what  age  is  she  ?  "  Day  inquired. 
"  Is  she  a  suitable  age  for  an  aunt  1  " 

That  question  Clunie  put  beneath  his  feet. 

"  Is  she  pretty  *?  " 

This  also  was  ignored ;  but  the  boy's  face 
answered  for  him,  chiefly  in  a  forced  stolidity 
which  did  not  deceive.  Day  pleaded  with  him 
to  introduce  him  —  to  the  baby,  at  least. 

"  It 's  a  house  of  mourning,  you  blasphemer ! 
50 


Cije 


Do  you  think  I  go  there  to  amuse  myself  ?  I 
am  their  striker.  When  she  is  ready  to  make 
acquaintances  —  if  you  want  to  know  how  old 
she  is  —  she  is  old  enough  to  choose  them  for 
herself." 

About  this  time  it  became  evident  that  Clunie 
was  "  making  a  deal  with  himself "  on  the 
question  of  drink.  Naturally,  his  best  friends 
were  incredulous  that  it  would  come  to  any- 
thing. Bets  were  exchanged  as  to  the  issue. 
But,  seeing  him  tested  on  one  or  two  occasions, 
with  no  sign  of  his  weakening,  Day  challenged 
an  explanation,  "  Whence  and  how  is  this  ?  " 

Clunie  turned  a  fighting  red  on  the  instant, 
—  a  color  that  showed  the  heart  of  his  en- 
deavor, for  which  he  blushed  before  the  eyes  of 
men.  That  it  had  a  heart  was  all  Day  asked 
to  know. 

One  evening  he  met  him  again  at  Lotta's 
Fountain,  and  again  the  flower  sellers  were  be- 
sieging him,  but  he  was  not  standing  them  off, 
as  before.  Morton  waylaid  him,  and  the  friends 
walked  uptown  together,  Clunie  ostentatiously 
explaining  that  his  violets  were  for  the  captain's 
51 


baby.  At  Marteau's  he  stopped  for  a  box  of 
confectionery  ordered,  evidently,  and  waiting 
for  him. 

"  Also  for  the  baby  ?  "  Day  inquired. 

He  gave  a  short  laugh,  an  irrepressible  crow, 
as  if  the  question  had  touched  him  under  the 
short  ribs  of  recollection  or  pleased  reminiscence. 
"  These  for  the  baby  !  "  he  chuckled.  "  She 
thinks  that  sweet  stuff  for  that  infant  is  the  sum 
of  all  earthly  wickedness." 

"  And  eats  it  herself  to  save  him  the  temp- 
tation, I  suppose  3  " 

"  You  are  to  remember  that  she  takes  these 
things  seriously.  It  's  quite  the  greatest  thing 
out  to  hear  them  argue." 

"  Them  !  Does  that  boy  argue  with  his  aunt 
already  1.  " 

"  She  argues  with  old  —  Egypt,  the  nurse, 
whatever  her  shady  title  is." 

"  Is  '  she  '  carrying  the  gospel  into  Egypt  1 " 

"  Quite  so  !  "  said  Clunie.  "  She  has  the 
latest  advices  on  the  food  question.  Remark- 
ably sound  she  is,  too.  But  the  old  mammy 
kicks  like  a  steer.  *  Honey  knows  what  he 
52 


Cfje 


wants,'  she  says,  '  an'  he  knows  when  he  wants 
it.  Talk  'bout  hours  !  All  hours  is  his  hours, 
and  he  ought  to  have  it,  too.' 

"  But  he  does  n't  get  it,  all  the  same.  She 
has  him  down  to  the  fraction  of  a  minute,  and 
he  does  n't  get  it  any  sooner  by  howling. 
What  am  I  talking  about  I  His  bottle,  of 
course !  " 

Day  said  that  he  blushed  for  him,  but  Clunie, 
insensible  to  the  obligation,  continued  to  revel 
in  details  the  most  ignoble,  declaring  it  was  his 
own  doctrine  long  ago  applied  in  the  training 
of  thoroughbred  pups. 

"  '  Just  little  creatures  of  habit,'  she  says  they 
are ;  and  they  might  as  well  be  learning  good 
habits  as  bad.  You  educate  their  stomachs 
first  because  that  is  the  seat  of  their  ideas; 
that 's  where  the  tussle  between  will  and  appe- 
tite begins.  She  claims  that  a  four-months 
babe  can  be  taught  self-control.  He  can  learn 
to  have  faith  that  his  grub  basket 's  going  to  be 
filled  when  the  time  comes,  and  it  won't  come  a 
minute  sooner  for  his  yelling. 

"  It 's  great  to  see  them  when  feed-time  is 
53 


almost  up  !  He  gets  nasty  in  his  temper  ;  he 
stuffs  his  fists  into  his  mouth ;  he  breaks  out 
into  howls.  He  digs  his  gums  into  her  cheek 
—  he  bites,  by  Jove !  And  she  hauls  him 
around  where  she  can  look  him  in  the  eye,  and 
she  appeals  to  his  higher  faculties.  She  shows 
him  things ;  she  interests  him.  He  forgets 
the  old  Adam  in  his  belly." 

"  Ethics  of  the  Nursing  Bottle  !  "  said  Day, 
in  high  derision.  "  The  doctrine  may  be  sound, 
but  it  has  chosen  a  weird  mouthpiece." 

"  I  'm  telling  you  a  thing  which  you  ought 
to  respect.  If  you  don't,  so  much  the  worse 
for  you.  /  was  brought  up  on  the  plan  of  give 
him  whatever  he  howls  for.  I  can  appreciate 
what  she  is  doing  for  him  !  " 

"  Just  give  me  the  key  to  that  feminine  pro- 
noun, once  for  all,  will  you  ]  Does  c  she  '  in- 
variably stand  for  Miss  Dunstan  1  " 

"  Oh,  be  blowed ! "  said  Clunie  parentheti- 
cally. "  The  method  you  might  get  out  of 
books,"  he  went  on,  infatuated  with  his  subject, 
or  with  some  train  of  associations  born  of  it  ; 
"  but  the  practice,  mind  you,  is  another  thing. 


Cije 


The  patience,  the  cleverness,  the  jolly  little 
dodges  by  way  of  passing  the  time,  and  the 
downright,  on-the-square  way  she  treats  him, 
when  the  time  won't  pass  and  all  the  dodges 
fail. 

"  '  Now,  hold  on  to  yourself,  sonny,'  she  says 
when  he  's  raging  mad  for  his  bottle,  and  the 
old  darky  waltzes  round  as  if  she  'd  like  to  kill 
anybody  that  kept  it  from  him.  '  Hold  on  to 
yourself !  '  she  says.  And  she  shows  him  how 
to  do  it !  She  is  building  up  his  digestion  and 
his  manners  and  his  character  generally  on  the 
basis  of  that  bottle." 

"  You  ought  to  go  on  the  lecture  tour,  you 
and  your  Bottle ;  with  lantern  views  of  the  sub- 
ject Being  Educated  to  Wait :  his  appearance 
and  behavior  during  the  first  hour  ;  the  second, 
—  second  and  a  half.  Perhaps  Miss  Dunstan 
would  consent  to  accompany  you,  and  furnish 
illustrations  with  a  living  subject." 

"  Have  you  heard  of  a  certain  kind  of  per- 
son that  came  to  scoff  and  stayed  to  pray^ 
You  '11  get  there  if  you  keep  on  !  "  Clunie  re- 
torted, not  altogether  displeased  with  this  badi- 
55 


nage.  "  You  see  she  has  to  fight  against  old 
Egypt  all  the  time.  The  old  girl  tries  to  un- 
dermine his  morals  with  poking  things  into  him 
between  meals.  She  seduces  him  with  forbid- 
den goodies  that  make  him  wink  his  eyes  and 
look  thoughtful. 

"  '  I  don'  know  noffin'  'bout  books,'  she  says^ 
4  an'  I  don1  b'liebe  much  in  doctahs,  but  I  'se 
had  ten  chillen,  and  buried  seben  of  'em  !  Books 
can't  larn  me  noffin'.' 

"  Then  —  a  —  Miss  Dunstan  lets  down  her 
eyelashes,  for  fear  she  'd  have  to  smile.  She  's 
awfully  nice  to  that  old  beast,  on  account  of  her 
saving  the  boy's  life  at  the  start,  perhaps.  It 's 
well  she  saved  something !  " 

"  Has  '  she  '  got  eyelashes,  too  I  "  Day  in- 
quired. 

"  Has  she  got  what  1  " 

"  Do  you  remember  what  wonderful  eye- 
lashes the  sister  had  ?  " 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  chuck  you  out  of  that 
window  ?  You  '11  be  good  enough  to  listen  to 
what  I  'm  saying,  or  keep  your  unsightly 
thoughts  to  yourself." 


"  You  have  told  me  all  I  want  to  know," 
laughed  Day,  rising,  "  and  more  than  I  ever 
expected  to  know,  without  seeing  the  lady  her- 
self. She  '11  have  a  bib  tucked  under  your  chin, 
my  son,  and  be  teaching  you  to  wait,  before  you 
know  it !  " 

"  By  the  Lord,  I  wish  she  could !  "  said 
Clunie  devoutly. 

But,  profane  jesting  aside,  Day  was  im- 
mensely interested  to  see  how  simply  the  Pro- 
digal —  of  a  civilization  both  older  and  younger 
than  ours  —  took  himself  in  this  phase  of  what 
might  have  been  called  driveling  innocency. 
He  longed  to  have  Mr.  Felix  hear  Clunie  hold 
forth.  That  he  should  set  up  as  a  gospeler 
of  the  nursery,  and  preach  sermons  on  the 
Bottle,  as  unembarrassed  as  the  day  he  related 
his  adventures  at  the  Cape  !  His  moral  naivete 
was  delicious. 

So  the  irrepressible  conflict  went  on  between 
the  powers  of  light  and  of  darkness ;  and  Day 
learned  from  that  awestruck  disciple,  Clunie, 
that  "  she  "  was  now  reaping  her  reward.  The 
proof  of  the  pudding  had  come,  and  the  four- 

57 


months  babe  was  a  Christian  philosopher  won- 
derful to  see.  The  hour  for  refreshment  arrived 
on  wings  of  balmy  expectation.  He  never  lost 
hold  of  himself  now.  He  had  succumbed  to  the 
law,  and  was  safe  in  the  arms  of  a  faith  that 
had  never  yet  deceived  him. 

"  I  don't  believe  she  has  forgotten  him  once ! " 
said  Clunie,  as  if  speaking  of  miracles.  "  She 
keeps  the  watches  herself.  Old  Egypt  has  no 
sense  of  time  or  anything  else." 

Day  had  observed  the  insulting  harshness 
with  which  Clunie  invariably  spoke  of  his  former 
associate  in  a  certain  dark  night's  work  of  dis- 
tressful memory.  The  sore  spot  had  not  healed 
with  time  and  the  compensations  time  had 
brought.  It  might  also  imply  that  he  was  sen- 
sitive in  a  new  quarter ;  as  well  he  might  be, 
for  the  negress  held  his  reputation,  such  as  it 
was,  at  the  mercy  of  her  coarse  and  rambling 
tongue.  And  Miss  Dunstan  was  no  doubt  a 
frequent  if  an  unwilling  listener. 

Clunie  remarked,  one  day,  with  an  absent 
half  smile  on  his  features,  that  "  she  "  had  a  will 
"  as  fine  and  soft  as  steel ;  but  there 's  no  let  go." 
£8 


Cfje 


And  Day,  being  in  a  mood  to  spare  him, 
merely  added  that  "  she  "  seemed  to  be  on  the 
whole  a  good  deal  of  a  person,  —  to  have  come 
out  of  "  one  of  the  Puget  Sound  ports." 

Clunie  sat  up  at  that.  "  The  captain's  boy 
will  have  reason  to  think  so !  It 's  the  safest 
port  he  '11  ever  make.  Luckiest  little  beggar  I 
know  !  " 

"  One  would  hardly  have  said  so  four  months 
ago ! "  Day  reminded  him.  It  struck  them 
both,  in  silence,  the  awful  and  condign  way  life 
has  of  getting  on  without  us,  —  any  one  of  us, 
the  most  necessary  and  dear.  Nature  has 
always  a  stopgap  ready.  She  gets  her  work 
done  at  any  cost,  and  out  of  destruction  and 
waste  new  issues  are  framed  which  she  adopts 
as  calmly  as  if  they  had  been  part  of  the  origi- 
nal plan. 

Poor  little  Mrs.  Speke,  wiped  out  of  exist- 
ence at  the  moment,  it  would  seem,  of  her  su- 
preme usefulness,  had  bequeathed  to  that  tropical 
infant,  Clunie  Robert,  his  one  effective  spiritual 
opportunity,  —  while  her  own  child  had  never 
missed  her,  was  better  off  perhaps  without  her ; 

59 


and  her  husband  was  consoling  himself,  after 
the  manner  of  his  species,  in  a  foreign  port. 

The  fool  had  rushed  in,  but  the  angels  were 
not  far  behind  him. 

"  What  is  the  young  gentleman's  schedule  at 
present  1  Is  he  on  for  dog-watches  still  ? " 
Morton  asked  one  day. 

"  I  believe  he  has  to  go  three  hours  now," 
said  Clunie  gravely.  He  was  perfect  in  their 
"  nursery  patter,"  as  Day  called  it,  so  that  it 
was  "  sickening  "  to  hear  him. 

"  Then  what  do  you  say :  if  '  she '  can  be 
off  duty  three  hours  at  a  stretch,  suppose  we  get 
tickets  for  '  A  Scrap  of  Paper '  I  " 

"  Scrap  of  your  aunt !  "  said  Clunie  roughly. 

"  Be  careful,  my  son !  There  is  an  aunt 
whose  name  may  not  be  taken  in  vain.  Such, 
at  least,  was  my  impression.  It  might  do 
'  your  aunt '  good  to  have  a  little  change  from 
the  society  of  infants  and  —  What  is  the  old 
colored  female's  name  ?  Has  she  got  a  name  1 " 

"  Dare  say  she  has,  but  it  does  n't  matter. 
Miss  Dunstan  would  n't  go,  anyhow,  on  account 
of  her  mourning." 

60 


"  Of  course."  Day  admitted  he  should  have 
remembered  that.  He  then  proposed  that  they 
take  the  boat  and  the  baby,  bottle,  and  all,  and 
go  up  —  Here  he  came  near  to  making  a 
second  blunder  on  his  friend's  account. 

"  No,  thanks,"  said  Clunie.  "  No  barge  pic- 
nics for  me  —  in  that  direction." 

"  Well,  what  will  you  do  1  You  ought  to 
celebrate  Washington's  Birthday  in  some  way, 
you  off-sided  alien !  " 

"  She  has  an  engagement  on  for  G.  W.'s 
Birthday,"  said  Clunie,  looking  almost  too 
indifferent. 

"  Well,  you  and  I,  then.  What  do  you  say 
to  Ingleside  ?  " 

"I  —  a  —  I  shall  be  busy  part  of  the  day." 

"  You  —  sinner  !  " 

Clunie  met  the  laughter  in  his  friend's  eyes, 
and  then  he  fell  upon  him  and  hurled  him  all 
over  the  place.  When  he  was  through  with 
him,  temporarily,  Day  rose  and  dusted  himself 
off.  "  You  —  sinner  !  "  he  repeated.  Clunie 
looked  down  at  him  through  narrowed  eyelids, 
breathing  short.  He  was  flushed  and  white 
61 


about  the  mouth  and  nostrils  with  the  clearness 
of  his  ridiculous  health,  and  those  unexception- 
able habits  which  he  was  acquiring  through 
association  with  the  higher  ethical  training  for 
infants. 

"  I  wish,"  he  said  simply,  dropping  his 
guard,  "  I  wish  I  had  never  been  more  of  a 
sinner  than  I  hope  to  be  next  Thursday  come 
Washington's  Birthday." 

"  Our  institutions  are  having  their  effect," 
Day  remarked,  not  to  take  advantage. 

On  the  morning  before  the  legal  holiday, 
Mr.  Bradshaw  had  requested  that  Day  get 
word  to  Clunie  that  he  was  wanted  at  the 
office.  He  reported  himself  the  same  afternoon 
with  Missus  treading  on  his  shadow  as  usual. 
But  Missus  was  not  invited,  like  her  master,  to 
step  into  the  private  office  ;  she  sat  on  her  heels 
outside  with  her  keen  little  head  on  a  slue. 
When  chairs  were  moved  within,  and  her  mas- 
ter appeared,  she  executed  the  double  manoeuvre 
of  throwing  herself  at  his  feet  and  avoiding 
their  advancing  stride.  He  came  down  the 
long  room,  neither  seeing  nor  hearing.  All  the 
62 


clerical  rank  and  file  knew  that  that  tingling 
half  hour  with  the  chief  meant  no  less  than  the 
sword  touch  on  the  shoulder  for  the  late  vaga- 
bond. He  was  one  of  them,  now. 

It  might  be  said  that  the  firm  had  its  tricks, 
like  others  of  the  trade ;  it  had  its  code  as  well. 
Its  house  flag  was  known  in  the  ends  of  the 
earth ;  and  the  lowest  and  latest  incumbent,  the 
office  boy  hired  the  day  before,  used  the  com- 
mercial "  we,"  and  thought  the  more  of  himself 
for  being  able  to  do  so. 

In  front  of  Morton's  desk  Clunie  halted. 
"  How  long  is  it  since  the  morning  I  stood  here, 
and  you  asked  me,  '  What  can  I  do  for  you  ? ' 
and  I  wanted  to  kick  you  for  the  way  you  said 
it?" 

"  Two  years  ago  last  August,"  Day  answered, 
on  reflection. 

"  Well,  Mort,  you  have  done  several  things 
for  me :  one  thing  you  have  left  me  alone.  I 
am  to  have  Weeks's  place,"  he  added.  "Do 
you  know  how  he  lost  it  1 " 

Day  could  have  guessed,  and  so  could  Clunie. 

"  Well,  shall  we  sell  the  Lass  ?  " 
63 


Day  said  that  he  was  in  no  particular  hurry. 
Was  it  best  to  burn  their  bridges  ? 

"  You  think  I  won't  stick,"  said  Clunie.  "  I 
say  that  we  sell  her.  I  want  some  clothes,  and 
I  want  them  now !  " 

So  they  sold  the  Salvation  Lassie,  and  Clunie 
bought  what  he  called  a  "  rattling  good  suit " 
and  accessories  with  his  and  Day's  share  of  the 
proceeds,  intimating  that  it  was  the  last  time  he 
intended  to  honor  their  friendship  in  that  way. 

On  Thursday,  the  holiday,  Morton  dined 
early  with  friends  at  Oakland,  and  crossed  the 
ferry,  coming  home,  at  the  hour  when  suburban 
trains  discharge  their  loads  of  excursionists,  — 
not  the  cream  of  the  cream,  but  just  Nobodies 
and  their  wives  and  sweethearts.  Nobody  is  a 
lucky  dog,  sometimes.  Day  caught  sight  of 
Clunie,  half  a  head  above  the  procession,  with  a 
light  in  his  face  as  if  Happiness  had  made  him 
her  color-bearer.  Day  knew,  as  well  as  if  he 
had  seen  her,  who  it  was  that  his  comrade 
was  convoying  through  the  press.  He  looked 
suffused  with  pride  and  consciousness,  as  a  man 
looks  who  feels  for  the  first  time  on  his  arm  the 
64. 


thrill  of  a  little  hand,  —  the  hand  that  can  lead 
him,  or  send  him,  to  the  world's  end ;  that  will 
quietly  bind  him  to  his  proper  work  in  life  and 
make  the  yoke  easy  and  the  burden  light,  or 
gall  and  chafe  and  fetter  him  to  his  grave. 

As  the  crowd  dispersed  in  search  of  seats, 
there  was  the  truant  pair  with  every  appearance 
of  the  surfeited  picnicker;  and  behind  them 
rolled  the  transport,  mother  Egypt,  with  the 
captain's  boy  asleep  in  her  arms. 

Day  was  surprised  to  see  that  the  paragon 
who  had  worked  such  a  change  in  Clunie  was 
but  a  small,  plain-faced  woman,  older  than  he, 
apparently ;  with  no  adventitious  charm  of  col- 
oring or  coquetry  likely  to  catch  the  fancy  of  a 
South  Sea  prodigal.  It  is  the  real  thing  this 
time,  thought  Day ;  and  conscience  rebuked 
him  for  his  many  and  flippant  allusions  to  the 
maiden  aunt  in  his  intercourse  with  Clunie. 

The  nurse  had  dropped  into  her  seat  with  a 
sigh,  and  began  wagging  her  knees  to  hush  the 
stirring  sleeper.  They  piled  their  lunch  basket 
and  their  faded  wild  flowers  into  the  vacant 
place  beside  her,  while  Clunie  helped  Miss 
65 


Dunstan  with  her  jacket.  Sleeves  were  tight, 
as  well  as  skirts,  in  those  days ;  she  slid  into 
hers,  and  hurriedly  busied  herself  with  the  but- 
tons, and  he  gave  her  the  ends  of  her  boa  to 
cross  beneath  her  chin.  Then,  with  one  swift 
look  into  each  other's  eyes  —  which  she  dis- 
claimed by  looking  away  again  severely  —  they 
walked  forward  to  the  bow. 

Clunie's  hands  were  in  his  pockets,  his  knees 
were  braced  against  the  rail ;  but  she  leaned 
in  a  plastic  attitude,  her  fingers  loosely  clasped, 
her  eyes  fixed  on  the  boat's  progress  in  the 
dark.  Morton  hastily  revised  his  first  judg- 
ment on  her  appearance,  for  a  sweeter  side  face 
no  woman  ever  owned.  She  had  her  sister's 
low  feminine  forehead  and  deep  black  lashes, 
but  a  stronger,  finer  mouth  and  chin. 

Now,  why  does  n't  the  idiot  speak,  he  won- 
dered. Perhaps  he  had  spoken ;  but  no,  there 
was  as  yet  no  definite  understanding  between 
them,  —  only  a  nebulous  consciousness  on  her 
part ;  and  Clunie  was  holding  on  to  himself  as 
he  never  had  done  in  his  life  before.  He  knew 
his  reasons  best. 

66 


Ill 


IT  was  windy,  white-cloud  weather,  high  tides 
and  a  full  moon.  The  Parthenia  lay  at  Mission 
Dock  loading-  with  wheat  for  Liverpool.  She 
was  one  of  Ward  and  McAlpine's  steamers. 

A  week  or  so  before  she  sailed,  Day  was  down 
at  her  agents'  office,  engaging  a  stateroom 
aboard  of  her  for  the  wife  and  sister  of  one  of 
the  firm's  correspondents  in  Honolulu.  The 
ladies  had  just  arrived,  on  their  way  to  England, 
and  were  visiting  friends  in  the  city.  It  hap- 
pened, as  we  say,  —  not  knowing  whether  any- 
thing ever  does  happen,  —  that  Clunie  Robert 
was  with  him.  They  were  kept  waiting  while 
a  round  little  pony-built  Mexican  woman  was 
taking  passage  on  the  same  ship  for  herself  and 
child.  Her  back  was  toward  them,  but  there 
was  no  mistaking  her  accent,  or  her  hair  —  or 
her  hat,  with  its  artless  reds  and  greens.  Her 
voice  was  low,  and  she  laughed  continually  over 
67 


Cije 


her  efforts  to  translate  her  business  into  English. 
Fred  Dowd,  the  shipping  clerk,  did  his  gallant 
best  to  meet  her  halfway  in  Spanish,  and  by  his 
civility  and  the  giddy  way  in  which  he  wasted 
his  time,  and  theirs,  the  young  men  concluded 
there  would  be  one  pretty  woman,  at  least,  on 
the  Parthenia  that  trip. 

Strictly  speaking,  it  was  Day  who  made 
these  reflections,  for  Clunie  had  retired,  accord- 
ing to  a  habit  of  his,  noticeable  of  late,  when- 
ever he  caught  the  Mexican-Spanish  inflection. 
One  of  the  rudimentary  lessons  of  a  lifetime  had 
been  bitten  into  him  in  that  tongue  ;  and  some 
lessons,  like  vaccination,  do  not  "  take  "  at  once. 
He  had  waited  by  the  door  and  was  watching 
the  woman's  child,  for  he  was  always  interested 
in  the  young  of  any  species.  The  little  one  had 
slipped  down  from  a  chair  where  its  mother 
had  left  it,  and  was  playing  with  the  pattern  of 
the  cane-seat,  exploring  the  meshes  as  pitfalls 
for  a  tiny  forefinger  no  bigger  than  the  stump 
of  a  lead  pencil.  Presently  the  finger  slipped 
through  too  far  and  stuck  by  reason  of  its 
fatness.  Day  made  a  step  forward,  expecting 
68 


a  howl,  but  Clunie  said :  "  Let  him  be.  He  's 
game." 

It  was  a  baby  in  frocks,  but  Clunie  had 
dubbed  him  a  boy  by  the  way  in  which  he  con- 
ducted that  affair  of  the  finger.  He  tugged  and 
twisted  and  hung  on  by  it,  till  it  was  rasped 
crimson;  he  set  his  brows,  casting  indignant 
glances  at  the  strange  spectators  who  smiled  and 
offered  no  help. 

"  Hey,"  said  Clunie,  much  diverted,  "  his 
cap  is  over  his  starboard  peeper  and  his  face  is 
as  red  as  a  beet.  He  '11  yell  directly."  And 
he  did.  The  mother  turned,  with  a  flash  in  her 
big,  dark  eyes,  and  the  young  men  drew  off 
rather  guiltily. 

The  child  threw  itself  with  sobs  upon  her 
bosom.  Its  cap  slipped  off,  and  showed  a  fine, 
broad-topped  head,  pink  with  rage,  and  shining 
all  over  with  curls  no  longer  than  a  lamb's  fleece 
and  yellow  as  summer  seed-grass. 

Day  turned,  with  some  remark    about   the 

handsome  little  hybrid ;   but  Clunie  looked  at 

him  as  if  he  had  been  the  wall,  and  walked  out 

of  the  place.     They  were  on  their  way  further 

69 


to  keep  an  appointment  which  was  Glume's 
more  than  Day's.  Morton  followed  his  friend 
as  far  as  the  sidewalk  and  saw  him  standing  on 
the  corner  below,  staring  straight  before  him 
with  a  fixed,  expressionless  face,  the  external 
consciousness  knocked  apparently  clean  out  of 
him.  The  matter  looked  too  serious  for  jocular 
meddling.  Day  did  not  hail  him,  but  let  him 
go,  and  finished  their  joint  business  alone  and 
not  in  the  best  of  spirits. 

He  met  the  mother  and  child  face  to  face 
again  as  he  was  returning  to  McAlpine's  office. 
She  was  a  rather  handsome  young  woman, 
chiefly  eyes,  the  grave,  soft,  animal-like  eyes 
of  her  race  —  the  Indian  half  of  it.  Her  nat- 
ural suppleness  was  spoiled  by  stays,  and  of 
course  she  could  not  wear  the  hat  of  civilization 
—  but  she  did,  with  the  effect  of  its  making  her 
look  bold  and  hard.  She  was  a  pretty  piece  of 
degeneracy,  a  child  of  Nature  in  the  fatal  trans- 
ition stage. 

On  the  shadow  of  a  hint,  Fred  Dowd  would 
have  satisfied  his  curiosity  concerning  her ;  but 
Day  had  a  strong  disinclination  to  know  more 

70 


than  he  could  avoid  knowing,  in  this  case.  If 
Madam  Nemesis  had  looked  at  Clunie  out  of 
that  woman's  dark  eyes,  what  she  had  to  say 
to  him  was  a  matter  for  them  to  settle.  A 
year  ago,  Clunie  would  hardly  have  paid  her 
the  tribute  of  a  pale  face  and  a  hasty  retreat. 
Conscience  had  never  made  a  coward  of  him 
before. 

Day  rebuked  himself  duly  for  assuming  that 
it  was  conscience,  but  having  yielded  to  sus- 
picion, little  confirmatory  suggestions  were  not 
wanting.  He  found  himself  a  trifle  constrained 
with  his  friend  when  they  met  next  day.  But 
Clunie  was  indifferent  and  preoccupied. 

The  Bradshaws'  outside  man  was  down  about 
the  docks  a  good  deal  while  the  Parthenia  was 
loading.  He  noticed  that  her  people  seemed  to 
be  taking  big  chances  on  getting  her  to  sea.  A 
few  days  before  she  was  to  sail,  he  said  to 
Clunie :  "  Do  you  know  what  I  have  done  ? 
Persuaded  those  ladies  to  wait  over  for  the  Ros- 
common.  I  took  their  names  off  the  Parthenia's 
list  to-day." 

"What  for?" 

71 


"  Well ;  she  is  a  new  ship  in  the  Pacific  trade. 
Grannis  has  never  taken  her  out  from  the  Heads 
before.  And  he  is  one  of  these  banner-freight 
captains,  —  almost  too  clever  about  getting 
ahead  of  the  inspectors.  They  have  pumped  out 
her  water  ballast  and  are  loading  her,  light  as 
she  is,  down  to  her  PlimsolPs  mark.  She  is  a 
very  long,  high-sided  vessel  —  top-heavy  as  she 
lies ;  and,  to  cap  all,  they  are  getting  a  deck-load 
of  extra  coal  aboard  of  her.  Some  of  her  coal 
bunkers  have  been  used  for  wheat,  the  stevedores 
say.  If  she  happens  to  strike  it  rough,  going 
over  the  Bar,  she  will  turn  turtle  before  they 
can  get  the  water  ballast  back  into  her  compart- 
ments." 

"  Are  you  the  only  one  who  says  so  ?  " 
"  I  am  not  the  only  one  who  thinks  so.    But 
Grannis  knows  it  all !    And,  of  course,  the  trick 
has  not  been  tried  —  with  that  vessel.    She  may 
go  out  all  right." 

"  But  the  general  opinion  on  the  water-front 
is  that  she  won't "?  " 

"  The  water-front  does  n't  know  nor  care." 
"  If  you  believe  this,  Great  Scott,  you  ought 
72 


Cije 


to  care !     Why  don't  you  set  the  law  on  her  ] 
Talk  it  up  where  it  will  do  some  good." 

"  These  things  are  not  done  in  a  corner," 
Day  retorted.  "  The  law,  or  the  public,  is  at 
liberty  to  use  its  eyes.  I  have  no  inside  evi- 
dence ;  and  I  may  be  mistaken.  Go  and  see 
for  yourself." 

"  What  is  it  to  me !  "  Clunie  answered  with 
a  goaded  look.  "  If  you  can  wash  your  hands 
of  it"  — 

"  I  did  n't  wash  my  hands  till  I  had  used 
what  influence  I  have,  in  the  only  quarter  where 
I  am  likely  to  have  any.  Sometimes  I  believe 
it,  and  then  again  I  don't.  I  give  you  —  or 
any  friends  of  yours,"  Day  added  deliberately, 
"  the  benefit  of  my  doubts." 

Clunie  did  not  thank  him.  He  flushed  as  if 
stung.  "  If  you  have  gone  the  length  of  warn- 
ing those  women,"  he  said  huskily,  "  you  've  no 
right  to  stop  there." 

"  What  would  you  have  me  do  ?  " 

"  Go  to  the  Board  of  Underwriters.  Wake 
up  the  water-front,  somehow." 

"  You  are  welcome  to  the  job,"  said  Day. 
73 


Cfje 


"  Go,  and  inform  against  the  Parthenia,  and 
get  her  unloaded.  Who  can  tell  she  would  n't 
have  gone  out  all  right  1  Every  one  will  say 
it  was  done  out  of  meanness,  at  the  instigation 
of  our  bosses,  and  the  Old  Man  will  jump  on  us 
for  getting  the  house  into  trouble  with  a  rival 
line." 

Clunie  got  up  with  a  furious  look.  "This 
whole  business  of  going  to  sea  in  ships  is  rotten," 
he  swore ;  "  and  your  trade  etiquette  is  the  rot- 
tenest  part  of  it." 

"  It  is  all  that  keeps  us  from  flying  at  one 
another's  throats,"  said  Day. 

"  Oh,  well !  Whip  the  devil  around  the 
stump !  You  '11  get  on,  my  son." 

As  he  spoke,  Clunie's  face  turned  red  and 
rigid.  A  girl's  voice  could  be  heard  asking,  at 
the  wrong  desk,  for  Mr.  Day ;  and  Morton 
went  forward  to  speak  to  Annie  Dunstan. 

She  had  come  for  her  monthly  draft  on  the 
balance  Captain  Speke  had  left  with  the  firm  in 
her  name.  Usually  they  dispensed  with  the 
forms,  and  Clunie  had  saved  her  the  trouble  of 
coming.  Day  fancied  that  she  glanced  about 

7* 


ANNIE   DUNSTAN 


her  rather  wistfully  ;  she  must  have  seen  Clunie 
where  he  stood,  but  he  did  not  move.  He  re- 
mained as  if  paralyzed  until  she  was  gone,  when 
he  rushed  out,  and  Day  saw  him  go  tearing  off 
in  an  opposite  direction,  with  no  excuse  for 
leaving  the  shop,  and  no  apology  on  his  return. 

The  Parthenia  was  advertised  to  sail  on  a 
Thursday.  On  Tuesday  evening  Clunie  came 
to  his  friend's  room  and  took  his  favorite  seat 
on  the  table  with  his  foot  on  the  nearest  chair, 
tilting  it  back  and  forth  in  a  manner  most  objec- 
tionable. But  there  was  that  in  his  face  which 
cried  for  mercy. 

"  I  cannot  find  her  in  the  city,"  he  said. 
"  There  are  forty  of  the  name  in  the  Spanish 
quarter." 

Day  made  no  pretense  of  asking  to  whom  he 
referred. 

"  You  could  get  the  address  from  Dowd,"  he 
said,  without  looking  up. 

"  I  won't  go  near  the  brute  !  "  said  Clunie. 
"  You  know  the  style  of  his  inferences.     Will 
you  get  it  for  me,  old  man  1     You  are  superior 
to  inferences,  you  know." 
75 


Cije 


Neither  of  the  two  smiled  at  the  familiar  sar- 
casm. "  I  am  the  author  of  this  scare,"  said 
Day.  "  Suppose  you  let  me  peddle  it  about  I  " 

"  You  have  taken  care  of  your  friends  ;  these 
are  my  crowd.  It 's  on  me,  this  time,"  an- 
swered Clunie. 

His  wretched  willingness  to  meet  the  issue 
Day  had  raised  made  it  impossible  not  to 
relent. 

"  You  should  know  best,"  he  said.  After  a 
pause  he  added :  — 

"  Did  you  notice  how  she  was  dressed, 
Clunie  I  And  they  don't  travel  as  a  rule. 
Somebody  is  taking*  care  of  her.  I  don't  want 
to  be  a  cynic,  or  discourage  anybody's  good  in- 
tentions, but  I  don't  see  where  you  propose  to 
come  in  —  on  the  present  arrangement  1  As  a 
question  of  taking  chances  on  that  ship,  it  is 
simple  enough.  JTcan  see  that  she  is  warned." 

"  You  are  simplifying  things  rather  late,  it 
strikes  me.  Why  did  n't  you  think  of  this  be- 
fore ]  Are  you  getting  alarmed  about  me  1 " 

"  I  don't  know  why  I  should  n't  be,"  Day 
replied.  "  Have  you  looked  in  the  glass  lately? 
76 


You  are  looking  very  sick,  Glume  —  as  you 
ought  to  look,  for  you  are  throwing  away  the 
greatest  thing  on  earth !  Heaven  does  n't  stoop 
to  a  man  twice  in  his  lifetime." 

"  If  I  had  a  heaven,"  said  Clunie  bitterly, 
"  I  should  n't  want  it  to  stoop.  It  is  possible 
that  I  know  what  I  have  missed,  and  why  I 
missed  it." 

"  But  if  you  had  n't  missed  it  ?  If  you  had 
won  it,  God  knows  how !  and  could  have  it  for 
the  asking,  would  n't  you  rate  your  responsibil- 
ities a  little  differently!  You  can't  take  in 
fresh  cargo  with  the  old  stuff  rotting  in  your 
hold.  Unload,  man,  unload!  Tell  her  the 
truth.  You  never  knew  you  had  a  conscience 
till  she  found  it  out  for  you.  Go  to  her,  and 
she  will  teach  you  how  to  use  it." 

"  Go  to  her  —  with  that  story  !  The  girl  a 
man  could  tell  that  to,  and  not  forfeit  his  right 
to  know  her  —  she  would  n't  be  the  kind  to  help 
him  much." 

"  That  is  a  matter  of  opinion,"  said  Day. 
"  I  have  known  some  good  women,  but  I  never 
knew  a  really  good  one  who  would  want  to 

77 


spare  herself  the  truth  about  a  friend,  if  she 
could  help  him  by  knowing  it." 

"  Assuming  that  she  cared  one  way  or  the 
other!" 

"She  does  care;  you  know  that  perfectly 
well." 

"  So  much  the  worse  for  me,  then." 

They  sat  in  silence  after  that,  but  for  the  in- 
furiating bumping  of  the  chair  which  Glume 
kept  up  unconsciously.  The  owner  pulled  it 
away  from  him,  and  his  foot  came  down  heav- 
ily on  the  floor.  Day  was  angry  with  his 
friend,  doubly  angry  because  he  had  put  the 
test  before  him  and  could  not  save  him  from  its 
logic,  or  prevent  his  headlong  acceptance  of  its 
issues. 

"  Go  to  the  devil  your  own  way,  then,  but 
you  shall  not  jog  that  chair,"  he  said  roughly. 

Clunie  laughed,  and  sat  swinging  his  foot  in 
the  air.  "  If  I  don't  go  to  the  devil,  it  won't 
be  your  fault,  old  man.  I  suppose  you  know 
whose  side  you  are  on  !  Those  arguments  — 
don't  I  know  'em  all  by  heart?  Been  over 
them  a  thousand  times. 
78 


"Did  you  see  me  that  day  I  struck  their 
trail  ?  Did  n't  I  cut  and  run,  by  the  fine  in- 
stinct you  advise  me  to  follow?  And  what 
came  of  it  ?  What  comes  when  you  're  called 
up  for  a  caning,  and  you  duck  ?  You  get  it 
worse,  that 's  all." 

After  a  moment  he  said  more  gently,  "  I 
don't  know  what  I  shall  do,  Mort ;  don't  know 
what  there  is  to  do.  Seems  some  mistake 
about  '  never  too  late  to  mend.'  But  we  don't 
duck  this  time,  and  we  don't  pass  'em  by  on 
the  other  side. 

"  Come,  Missus !  "  he  rose,  and  Missus  came 
forth  from  beneath  the  sofa  where  she  had 
been  investigating  a  hole  in  the  wainscot.  "  We 
have  explained  ourselves  to  our  friends,  and  our 
friends  don't  approve  of  us." 

"  It 's  your  fight,  old  man,"  said  Morton, 
"  but  I  wish  —  I  wish  I  had  n't  stumped  you  to 
it !  What  name  shall  I  ask  for,  beside  '  Con- 
cha' V9 

The  change  in  Clunie's  face  was  not  pleasant 
to  see.  Day  opened  the  door  for  him,  with  an 
impulse  to  bid  him  farewell.  A  high,  pure 

79 


hope  was  dead.  What  remained  was  the  letter 
of  the  law,  —  a  lie  to  be  lived  for  life.  This 
was  another  man's  way  of  seeing  it.  Men  of 
the  English  race  are  not  happy  in  living  a  lie, 
or  in  seeing  one  fastened  upon  a  fellow  man, 
though  it  were  the  clog  of  a  righteous  punish- 
ment. 

At  Ward  and  Me  Alpine's,  Day  searched  the 
Parthenia's  passenger  list.  The  name  he  looked 
for  was  not  found.  There  was  no  Mexican  or 
Spanish  name  on  that  list. 

He  sang  hallelujahs  to  himself,  and  Dowd, 
perceiving  he  was  happy,  asked  if  he  had  re- 
cognized the  name  of  a  healthy  creditor  among 
the  outward  bound.  But  his  information 
seemed  to  afford  neither  comfort  nor  relief  to 
Clunie. 

"  It  gives  us  less  time,"  he  said.  "  We 
shall  have  trouble  stopping  her  now.  She  has 
taken  another  name." 

"  What 's  the  matter  with  her  taking  her 
husband's  name  ?  She  is  married,  or  she  is  n't 
going." 

Clunie  shook  his  head.  "  You  saw  her  take 
80 


Cfje 


her  passage.  And  if  she  had  married  he  'd  be 
a  Mexican.  You  don't  know  the  place.  No- 
thing stops  there  but  the  Pacific  Mail,  and  no 
one  goes  ashore  but  the  purser.  I  know  every 
purser  on  the  line." 

The  palpable  aspects  of  life  are  hard  to 
gainsay.  On  the  dock  next  morning,  amidst 
the  stir  of  the  steamer's  departure,  Day  lost 
the  clue  to  his  previous  fears.  The  Parthenia 
herself  was  such  a  huge,  convincing  reality. 
Where  was  there  any  suggestion  of  tragedy 
about  her,  or  her  crew  getting  in  the  lines,  or 
her  cool-eyed  officers  directing  them !  Her 
freight  was  all  on  board  ;  only  the  passengers' 
trunks  remained  to  be  handled. 

He  saw  Clunie  walking  fast  toward  him  up 
the  pier.  He  was  pale,  fresh-shaven,  and  so- 
berly aware  of  himself.  There  was  that  in  his 
look  which  made  one  think  of  a  conscript  who 
had  just  got  his  number.  For  whatever  he  was 
about  to  do,  Day  felt  himself  deeply  responsible. 

Clunie  looked  at  him  strangely.  "  They  are 
on  board,"  he  said. 

"  For  God's  sake  let  them  stay  there  !  We 
81 


have  been  stirring  up  a  mare's  nest.  Wake 
up,"  said  Day,  "  and  look  about  you.  Are  all 
these  people  mad  1  " 

Clunie  passed  his  hand  back  of  his  friend's 
arm  and  let  it  rest  a  moment  on  his  shoulder. 
"  You  are  nervous,  Mort.  It  is  all  done  now. 
But  ten  to  one  if  I  can  fetch  them  off !  " 

"  You  never  can  in  the  world.  You  can't 
make  those  people  decide.  '  Poco  tiempo,'  she 
will  say." 

A  light  came  into  his  face.  "  Then  it  is 
'  poco  tiempo  '  for  me.  If  they  go,  I  go  with 
them." 

"  You  don't,  if  I  can  help  it !  " 

"  But  the  ship  's  going  out  all  right ;  you 
have  just  said  so." 

"  Not  with  you  on  board." 

"  Wake  up  yourself,  Mort.  You  don't  want 
to  make  a  scene  here  !  But  if  you  want  to  help 
me  there  is  a  thing  "  —  Clunie  lowered  his 
voice  and  looked  away.  "  If  she  should  ever 
—  Well,  don't  —  don't  let  her  think  it  was 
what  I  wanted.  Tell  her  it  came  hard ;  tell 
her  why.  Hands  off  now !  You  '11  see  me 
82 


again.  Good  Lord,  if  this  were  the  end  of 
it!" 

He  shook  himself  free,  and  Morton  watched 
his  tweed  shoulders  and  the  fair  boyish  back  of 
his  head  disappear  in  the  press  around  the  gang- 
plank. 

The  voice  of  black  Jake  hailed  him  as,  steer- 
ing a  loaded  wheelbarrow,  the  big  stevedore 
lurched  past. 

"  Say,  boss,  ain't  that  Mist'  Robert  goin' 
aboard  1  Old  man  send  for  him  after  all  ?  " 

"  He  was  sent  for,"  said  Morton  grimly,, 
"  and  he  went." 

"  Let  those  trunks  be.  They  belong  ashore. 
That 's  what  I  said  !  You  leave  those  boxes 
where  they  are  !  " 

It  was  the  voice  of  Clunie,  close  beside  him. 
Morton  turned,  and  there  stood  the  late  peni- 
tent, offensively  alive  and  safe,  with  the  woman 
and  child  he  had  chosen.  He  had  come  back 
to  boast  of  his  choice,  apparently,  for  his  face 
was  ablaze  with  happiness.  So  amazing  was 
the  transformation  that  Day  could  not  at  first 
83 


take  in  its  full  import ;  then  he  wanted  to  strike 
the  shameless  front  of  him  so  lately  pretending 
renunciation  and  self-sacrifice.  He  thought  of 
an  unquotable  text  about  the  dog  that  returns 
—  as  is  the  nature  of  dogs  to  do,  but  should 
not  be  the  nature  of  men. 

That  poor  girl  in  her  childish  finery,  with 
her  big,  black  sensuous  eyes  —  what  a  judg- 
ment day  for  Clunie  !  And  the  fool  was  con- 
tent !  —  nay,  triumphant,  with  a  countenance 
of  solemn,  almost  holy  joy. 

"  Day,"  he  said  distinctly,  with  a  studied  de- 
liberation as  if  forced  to  think  of  every  word, 
"  please  be  presented  to  Mrs.  —  the  Senora 
Reynolds.  She  is  going  to  Liverpool  to  meet 
her  husband,  who  is  steward  on  the  new  Aus- 
tralian line,  between  Liverpool  and  Sydney.  I 
have  persuaded  her  to  wait  for  the  Roscommon, 
as  you  advised."  (As  he  advised  !)  Then  to 
her  in  Spanish  .he  explained  that  his  friend, 
naming  Day,  would  have  the  honor  to  escort 
her  to  her  train  while  he  himself  would  see  that 
her  luggage  was  detained  ashore  and  sent  after 
84. 


Cfje 


her  with  the  utmost   expedition.     And  what 
might  be  the  senora's  address  1 

She  gave  it,  and  with  all  grace  and  gravity 
assured  him  that  her  husband  and  her  father 
and  all  her  male  relations  were  his  servants  for 
life.  She  was  then  transferred  with  her  child 
and  numerous  portables  to  the  dazed  Morton's 
care.  He  made  a  scattering  retreat  with  her 
across  the  tracks  to  a  safe  corner,  where  she 
entered  into  an  animated  exposition  concerning 
her  child,  in  answer  to  some  obvious  question 
of  his,  explaining  that  he  was  muy  grande  for 
his  age.  And  he  could  walk  —  see !  She  put 
him  down  upon  his  cushiony  feet  to  prove  it, 
where  he  rocked  perilously  and  clung  to  her 
skirts.  Then  she  held  up  four  fingers  and 
tapped  her  own  white  teeth,  laughing,  to  show 
how  advanced  he  was  in  dentition  also.  And 
was  it  not  most  horrible  to  think  of  those  so 
many  persons  devoted  to  the  deep  —  in  that 
perfidious  ship  ]  Did  the  senor  also  believe  it  1 
She  think  some  time  she  must  be  dreaming ! 
Don  Clunio  had  spoken  with  the  face  of  con- 
viction absolute.  Would  she  not  leave  the 
85 


ship  ?  Then  would  he  take  passage  with  her 
to  England,  or  to —  She  rolled  her  great 
eyes  expressively.  They  would  be  drowned  all 
together.  Because  of  that  obligation  since  two 
years  which  he  owe  to  the  house  of  her  father. 
She  did  not  seek  to  be  drowned.  Ah  God ! 
Neither  did  she  wish  to  be  followed  to  England. 
She  was  between  fire  and  water.  Here  she 
laughed  hysterically.  Don  Clunio  —  he  was 
the  whirlwind.  When  the  whirlwind  take  you, 
you  go ! 

The  car  arrived,  and  Morton,  helping  her  to 
mount  the  step,  had  the  satisfaction  to  see  upon 
her  ungloved  hand  the  authentic  wedding  ring. 
So  the  fortuitous  Reynolds  was  no  myth. 

Clunie  was  still  in  the  thick  of  the  battle  of 
the  trunks.  Bad  language  was  flying  about  his 
ears;  every  man  belonging  to  the  ship  was 
angry  with  him,  but  he  was  superior  to  abuse. 
Also  he  was  using  a  little  money  in  subordinate 
quarters.  At  last  the  senora's  boxes  were  cut 
out  and  delivered  to  a  grinning  expressman. 
Clunie  turned  to  his  friend ;  he  was  wet  with 
perspiration  and  pale  about  the  mouth.  The 
86 


hand  he  held  out  was  shaking.  Day  grasped  it 
and  he  raised  his  hat.  The  damp  sea  wind  blew 
in  his  face  and  cooled  his  hot  brow  and  drip- 
ping hair. 

"  Commuted !  "  He  spoke  low,  with  an  awed 
look. 

"  It  was  Concha,  then*?  " 

"  Concha,  by  all  that 's  merciful !  Don't  you 
remember  Reynolds  1  He  was  steward  on  the 
Colomba.  I  had  forgot  the  stewards  go  ashore 
at  Cape  St.  Lucas.  They  go  ashore  to  buy 
green  turtle." 

Here  was  a  blow  to  tragedy  !  So  did  Ariadne, 
after  Theseus  deserted  her,  turn  to  the  good 
things  of  this  world,  and  marry  Bacchus.  But 
Day  wisely  refrained  from  calling  attention  to 
this  parallel.  His  friend  was  no  cynic,  and  at 
times  he  lacked  a  sense  of  humor. 

In  those  days  there  were  no  trolley  lines  run- 
ning from  the  ferries  to  the  Cliff  House.  The 
young  men  were  reduced  to  horse  hire  in  order 
to  compass  the  distance  in  time,  scant  time,  for 
a  last  look  at  the  Parthenia.  AS  they  were 
hastening  to  the  nearest  livery  stable,  a  large 
87 


female  with  a  market  basket  held  them  up,  and 
fixed  her  rolling  eyeballs  upon  Clunie.  It  was 
mother  Egypt,  awakened  from  her  calm.  Her 
manner  to  him  was  a  mixture  of  the  truculent 
and  caressing. 

"  Go  'way,  go  'way  f 'om  heah !  Dat  ain*  you  ! 
Youse  on  the  Partheny,  goin'  off  'thout  sayin' 
good-by ! " 

"  Where  did  you  get  that  yarn  ?  "  asked 
Clunie  without  a  change  of  feature. 

"  'T  ain't  no  ya'n.  I  knows  when  niggah 
lyin'.  Jake  say  he  seen  you,  an'  I  b'liebe 
him." 

"  Jake  has  got  a  head  on  him  this  morning," 
said  Clunie ;  "  and  you  are  blocking  the  road. 
Make  way." 

"  Aint  you  goin'  on  the  Partheny,  fo'  sure  1 
Way  is  you  goin'  then  I  " 

"  Is  that  any  business  of  yours  1 "  Clunie 
stood  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets  resignedly. 

"Mist'   Clunie!     You   scare   me   to  deaf! 
You  ghos*  was  walkin'  up  dat  gang-plang,  fo'  a 
wa'nin'.     Youse  goin'  on  dat  ship  some  day, 
an'  youse  gwine  be  drown' !  " 
88 


"  All  right/'  said  Day.     "  It  was  his  ghost ! 
I  saw  it  myself." 

"  Anyhow,  you  make  me  tell  a  big  lie 
amongst  you,  an'  somebody  gwine  feel  bad. 
Black  Jake  tell  me,  an'  I  tell  Miss  Annie,  an' 
she  don'  say  nothin'.  Her  face  tu'n  gray  like 
a  HT  stone  image,  an'  she  git  her  hat  an'  go  out 
de  house,  an'  I  ain't  seen  her ;  an'  I  got  to  go 
back  to  dat  chile  right  now.  I  lef  him  'ith 
that  fool  gal  'cross  de  street.  Mist'  Clunie  — 
no  foolin'  now !  Don'  you  ever  in  you'  bo'n 
life  set  foot  abo'd  dat  ship  —  dat  Partheny. 
She  ain't  right,  somehow.  You  been  wa'ned !  " 

"  I  was  warned  all  right  and  I  took  the  warn- 
ing," said  Clunie.  "  Now  get  out  of  the 
road." 

She  wagged  her  head  at  him  solemnly. 
"  What  fo'  you  ain'  been  neah  us  fo'  two  whole 
weeks'?  What  you  been  doin'  roun'  town'? 
Look  like  you  been  raisin'  Cain  wid  you'se'f 
somehow." 

"  I  '11  raise  Cain  with  you,  if  you  don't  step 


on." 


She  whacked  him  archly  with  her  basket. 
89 


Some  loose  paper  fell  out,  which  he  made  into  a 
wad  and  tossed  after  her. 

"  That 's  how  a  thing  flies  in  this  world,"  he 
groaned.  "  God  knows  why  I  have  to  meet 
that  old  fiend  at  every  turn  !  " 

"  There  is  a  side  to  it  that 's  not  all  bad," 
said  Day,  slightly  embarrassed.  They  were 
urging  their  horse  up  Sutter  Street,  and  talking 
against  the  noise  of  the  wheels. 

"  What  is  that  I  "  asked  Clunie. 

"  Well,  supposing  you  should  ever  feel  the 
need  of  confessing  yourself  to  —  in  a  certain 
quarter"  — 

"  I  'm  not  likely  to  be  taken  that  way  very 
soon,"  said  Clunie  dryly. 

"  I  'm  supposing  a  case.  I  think  our  colored 
friend  has  probably  saved  you  the  necessity. 
Yet  the  lady  is  still  your  friend !  Putting  it 
in  the  case  of  another  person  —  say  myself  — 
how  would  you  argue  from  that  *?  >: 

"  How  often  must  I  tell  you,  Mort,  that  I 
don't  consider  myself  in  a  position  to  argue,  or 
to  think,  or  to  speculate  in  that  quarter.     So 
drop  it,  if  you  please  ! " 
90 


C|)e 


"  All  in  good  time,"  said  the  irrepressible 
young  wiseacre.  "  What  will  you  bet  the 
Parthenia  goes  out  all  right,  after  all? " 

"  I  'm  not  betting  on  human  lives  this  morn- 
ing," replied  Clunie.  And  the  conversation 
dropped. 

It  was  the  old  Cliff  House,  then,  and  the  old 
cliff  walk,  before  the  pleasure  dome  of  Sutro 
was  decreed.  It  is  well  we  should  all  be  happy 
in  our  own  way,  —  the  democratic  way,  —  but 
the  happiness  of  crowds  is  a  fatal  thing  in 
nature.  There  were  no  board  fences  then,  cut- 
ting one  off  from  following  the  old  sea  paths 
deep  bitten  into  the  wind-sheared  turf. 

They  put  their  horse  up  at  the  hotel,  and 
tramped  out  toward  the  Golden  Gate  —  the 
Gate  of  Eternity  to  many  souls  that  day  !  The 
wind  boomed  in  their  ears,  and  laid  the  wild 
lilies  flat  in  their  beds  on  the  seaward  slopes.  In 
an  instant  they  saw  that  every  sign  was  against 
the  ship  :  wind  and  tide  opposing,  and  a  strong 
tide  running  out ;  and  the  whitecaps,  as  it  looked 
from  shore,  were  great  combers  on  the  Bar. 

Already  the  Parthenia  was  far  out  beyond 
91 


help.  Her  passengers  were  thinking  of  their 
luncheons.  The  two  spectators  watched  her 
come  nosing  around  the  cliff.  They  marked  how 
she  wallowed  and  settled  by  her  stern  quarter. 
They  were  letting  the  air  out  of  her  then  ;  she 
was  part  in  air  and  part  in  water  ballast  when 
she  met  the  Bar.  A  beast  of  a  Bar  it  was  that 
morning.  It  clapped  paw  upon  her,  rolled  her 
to  larboard,  let  her  recover  once,  then  rolled  her 
to  starboard,  as  a  cat  tumbles  a  mouse,  and  the 
play  was  over.  Her  stern  went  under  sideways, 
her  staggering  bow  shot  up,  and  she  sank,  like 
a  coffin,  with  all  on  board. 

So  sudden  and  silent  and  prepared  it  was,  she 
might  have  walked  out  there,  a  deliberate  suicide, 
and  made  away  with  herself.  And  so  strong 
was  the  ship's  personality  that  it  was  quite  a 
moment  before  the  two  witnesses  of  her  fate 
could  gather  the  sense  that  she  was  not  perish- 
ing alone,  but  was  digging  the  grave  of  living 
men  and  women. 

Then  they  tore  away  for  the  life-saving 
station. 

At  some  distance  ahead  of  them  on  the  narrow 
92 


A   STRONG  TIDE   RUNNING   OUT 


cliff  path  they  saw  a  little  figure  running  with 
arms  outspread,  —  a  girl,  bareheaded,  dressed 
in  black.  As  they  closed  upon  her,  they  saw 
her  wild  face  turned  to  the  empty  sea.  It  was 
Annie  Dunstan,  white  as  the  surf,  sobbing 
against  the  wind,  her  skirts  stroked  back,  the 
dark  hair  whipped  across  her  forehead.  She 
forced  her  way  against  the  blast  as  if  pulled 
onward  straight  for  the  spot  where  the  ship 
went  down.  As  Clunie  called  to  her  she  looked 
back,  swerved,  and  almost  fell.  He  could  not 
stop ;  he  could  not  leave  her.  Hand  in  hand, 
seizing  her,  and  half  carrying  her  they  ran  on, 
all  three,  without  question,  as  if  bound  by  in- 
visible cords  to  the  sinking  ship.  The  girl's 
strength  gave  out  soon.  "Go  on !  "  she  gasped. 
"  Don't  wait  for  me."  Buuaoh  Ubraiy 

"  There  is  no  hope !  "   Clunie  knelled  in  her 
ear. 

"  Go  on  !   There  must  be  hope ! "   Day  was 
now  ahead  of  them. 

"  Will  you  wait,  —  Annie  *?     Will  you  wait 
here  for  me  1" 

She  motioned  him  onward ;   she  flung  him 
93 


with  her  whole  might,  as  it  were,  toward  the 
spot  where  succor  was  needed.  It  was  her  own 
pure  soul  of  helpfulness  that  she  offered  up  in 
him,  and  he  felt  it  through  and  through  him. 
He  knew  he  should  save  lives  that  day.  Her 
strength  in  him  should  not  be  wasted. 

Weeks  had  passed.  The  Parthenia's  dead 
were  buried  —  all  that  the  sea  gave  up  —  the 
friendless  and  the  stranger  at  company  charges. 
For  the  Catholic  seamen  church  rites  and  a 
place  in  consecrated  ground  had  been  purchased 
of  the  Fathers,  at  so  many  dollars  per  soul ; 
the  souls  being  many,  the  price  was  somewhat 
abated.  The  Fathers  had  no  wish  to  take  ad- 
vantage. 

On  a  day  about  this  time,  Clunie  was  called 
into  the  private  office  and  informed  with  con- 
siderable impressiveness,  by  his  chief,  that  the 
London  uncles  had  sent  for  him.  No  barks  or 
brigs  this  time,  but  a  first-class  cabin  passage  on 
a  famous  greyhound  line  and  a  handsome  bal- 
ance to  his  credit  to  cover  all  contingent 
expenses. 

94 


Clunie  stood  considering.  There  was  less  than 
the  expected  satisfaction  in  his  face.  "  Would 
this  money  be  mine  ?  "  he  inquired,  referring 
to  the  deposit.  "  Does  it  come  out  of  my 
father's  estate  *  " 

"  I  think  it  would  be  safe  to  put  it  that  way," 
the  chief  replied  with  his  customary  caution. 
"  Your  uncles  are  evidently  prepared  to  recog- 
nize your  claim." 

"  Which  I  never  made  —  on  them,"  Clunie 
reminded  him. 

"  Quite  true.  But  the  intention  is,  I  fancy, 
to  make  it  very  pleasant  for  you  over  there. 
My  brother,"  Mr.  Bradshaw  added  kindly,  "  has 
been  able  to  give  a  good  account  of  you  since 
you  have  been  with  us." 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  it,  and  I  thank  you, 
sir.  I  could  find  use  for  that  money,  now," 
said  Clunie,  brightening,  "  but  not  to  go  to 
London." 

Mr.  Bradshaw  looked  the  youngster  over  in 
amazement.  "  It  is  a  fair  wind ;  better  take  it 
while  it  holds." 

"  There  is  a  fairer  wind  for  me  "  —  Clunie 
95 


turned  his  ardent  eyes  away.  "  I  am  not  ready 
to  go  to  London." 

Not  ready  to  go  —  where  an  English  family 
welcome  awaited  him,  not  ready  to  step  into  a 
fortune  in  trust !  "  I  hope  this  has  nothing  to  do 
with  pride,  or  pique  1  "  the  old  chief  protested 
solemnly.  "  Your  uncles  are  not  young  men." 

"  No,  sir  ;  and  my  father  is  not  a  young  man. 
If  he  had  sent  for  me  I  should  go  at  once.  But 
they  say  it  is  too  late  for  that.  The  uncles  have 
been  in  no  haste  to  see  me.  Why  should  I  be 
in  such  a  hurry  to  go  V9 

"  Will  you  tell  me  if  you  have  any  special 
reason  for  delay  —  any  claim  upon  you  here  ?  " 

"  I  have,"  answered  Clunie.  "  When  I  do 
go  I  wish  to  take  my  wife  with  me."  He  spoke 
fast ;  Mr.  Bradshaw  did  not  quite  follow. 

"  Your  wife !  "  he  repeated  dazedly.  "  Are 
you  married,  Robert  ?  When  in  the  world  did 
you  do  that  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  married  yet,"  Clunie  explained, 
with  his  flashing  smile ;  "  but  I  hope  to  be  by 
the  time  I  start  for  London." 

"Well!  Well!"  said  Mr.  Bradshaw,  his 
96 


Cije 


disgust  plainly  visible.  "  This  puts  a  new  face 
on  the  matter.  I  wish  I  could  congratulate 
you.  But  why  be  in  such  a  hurry  ?  You  are 
only  a  boy.  You  Ve  a  long  life  before  you." 

"I  need  along  life,"  said  Clunie,  "and  it 
can't  begin  too  soon.  We  are  booked  for  the 
voyage  ;  it 's  a  straight  course,  this  time.  There 
is  nothing  between  us  now  —  nothing  but  a 
trifle  of  money  —  between  us  and  the  stars  of 
home." 

Mr.  Bradshaw  coughed  his  dismay.  "  But 
where  —  where  do  you  call  '  home  '  1  Not 
Auckland  *  " 

"  Rather  !  "  laughed  Clunie.  His  nostrils 
widened ;  his  eye  was  far-fixed ;  he  dreamed 
awake,  and  saw  beyond  the  dingy  maps  on  the 
office  walls,  beyond  the  fog  in  the  street  outside. 
The  wash  of  sunlit  seas  was  in  his  ear. 

"  Home  first,  London  after  —  if  my  father  is 
still  there.  But  I  Ve  a  notion  that  I  shall  find 
him  when  we  go  home." 

When  "  we  "  go  home !  So  it  was  all  settled. 
Mr.  Bradshaw  could  not  help  his  distrust  of 
Clunie's  wisdom  in  the  direction  of  that  confi- 

97 


dent  "  we."  His  fading  smile  expressed  discreet 
but  not  unfriendly  incredulity.  "  Well/'  he 
concluded  sadly,  "  you  ought  to  know  which 
way  is  'home'  by  this  time — you  have  tried 
all  the  roads.  But  I  would  write  to  the  uncles 
first,  by  all  means.  Write  at  once.  And  while 
you  are  about  it,  why  not  send  a  few  words  to 
your  father  through  them.  Just  a  line  or  two, 
quite  simply  —  what  you  are  doing  —  that  sort 
of  thing." 

Clunie  flushed,  hesitating.  Then  he  confessed, 
looking  his  chief  in  the  eye,  "  I  have  been 
writing  to  my  father  —  on  the  chance,  you 
know  —  regularly,  for  the  past  six  months. 
Can't  say  what  they  did  with  my  letters  1  " 

"  Why,  they  read  them  to  him,  of  course. 
The  very  best  thing  you  could  have  done. 
No  doubt  it  has  had  an  excellent  effect  upon 
your  prospects  "  — 

"  Do  you  think  I  did  it  for  that  1 " 

"  Ckr-tainly  not !     But  it  was  a  good  thing 

all  around.     It  may  have  had  something  to  do 

with   the  improvement  they  speak  of  in  your 

father's  condition  of  late.   But  whether  it  helped 

98 


him  or  not  it  has  helped  you."  The  old  chief's 
gaze  dwelt  mistily  on  the  face  he  had  learned  to 
love :  the  rich  dark  coloring",  the  blue  eyes,  the 
mouth  steady  and  stern.  "  Something  has  helped 
you,"  he  pronounced,  "  and  God  knows  you 
needed  help  when  I  saw  you  first !  " 

Hand  clasped  in  hand,  the  two  men  con- 
fronted each  other.  "  It 's  a  sad  pity  your 
father  cannot  see  you,  Robert.  On  my  soul,  I 
believe  it  would  finish  his  cure.  It  would  make 
him  young  again.  Don't  wait  too  long,  my  boy. 
Find  him,  wherever  he  is.  It  is  never  safe  to 
say  in  this  world,  '  It  is  too  late ;  the  time  has 
gone  by.' ' 

Mr.  Bradshaw  touched  a  bell.  To  the  office 
boy  who  answered  it,  he  said:  "Ask  Mr. 
Wayland  to  make  out  a  check  to  Mr.  Clunie 
Robert.  How  much  shall  you  want,  Mr. 
Robert?" 

99 


fctoetfi&e 

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Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


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Schools 

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the 

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